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Piiotographic 

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illustrent  la  m^ithode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

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6 

/ 


PILOT  FORTUNE 

MARIAN  C.  L.  REEVES  and  EMILY  RE^ 


,^tt'-~\^M  ^ 


AUTHORS   OF   "  OLD   MARTIV   BOSCAWEN'S   JEST," 
"  AYTOUN,"  AND  "  WEAUITHOBNB" 


ii^ 


xJ  ,#v' 


Fortune  brings  in  some  boats  that  are  not  steered 

Shakebsbabb 


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BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

New  York:   11  East  Seventeenth  Street 

(C&e  l!!it)ei?ibe  l^rc?,^,  <jraniliri&oe 

1885 


■nuRapmni 


A 


iZ 


Copyright,  1885, 
Br  nOUGUTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 


^ 


All  rights  reserved. 


IS 


-o< 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


PILOT   FORTUNE. 


I. 


"  On  the  lip's  edge  of  the  down, 
Here  where  the  bent  grass  turns  to  brown 

In  the  dry  sea-wmd,  and  the  heath 
Crawls  to  the  cliff's  side,  and  looks  down." 

*'  Stephen,  why  do  they  ever  come  back  ?  "  says 
the  girl,  with  a  half  sigh  of  longing,  clasping  her 
hands  on  the  railing  of  the  sea-wall,  as  she  stands 
and  watches  the  fishing-boats  come  in.  "They 
look  so  free,"  she  says.  "  See  how  they  sweep  in 
over  that  blue  strip  of  sea  between  the  islands, 
—  one  by  one,  and  now  with  a  flutter  of  great 
white  wings  all  together.  They  are  like  the  sear 
gulls :  they  can  fly  where  they  will,  away  from  this 
island,  away  to  the  other  side  of  the  world.  I 
wonder  why  they  should  come  back  ?  " 

"  The  gulls  come  back,  Milly." 

"Yes,  they  are  gulls,"  she  retorts,  a  smile  at 
the  small  witticism  chasing  the  slight  cloud  from 
her  face,  as  a  sunbeam  chases  and  overtakes  and 
lights  up  a  sweeping  shadow  on  the  gusty  water 
she  is  watching. 

It  is  she  whom  he  is  watching:  and  somehow 
the  cloud  has  gotten  into  his  eyes,  that  flitted 
from  her  face. 

1 


'"mm 


npn 


2  PILOT  FORTUNE. 

She  has  forgotten  him  in  the  swift  scene  below 
her.     Wind   and   tide   are   in  favor  of   the  fleet 
now  steadily  sailing  toward  the  piers,  — one  two 
twenty,  thirty,  fifty    trim    smaU   schooners, '  here 
and  there  a  sloop  or  two,  —  in  through  the  strait 
named  by  the  early  French  settlers  on  the  oppo- 
site shore,  the  Grand  Passage,  between  this  little 
JNova   Scotian   Bryer   Island   and  the  deep-coved 
shore  of  Long  Island  opposite.     A  hurly-burly  of 
dark  rocks,  where  the  white  eddies  never  rest,  juts 
out  into  a  point  on  .this  side ;  beyond  which,  with 
the  merest  belt  of  blue   between,  the   tiny   lio-ht- 
house  island  lifts  its  rocky  pile,  its  green  crest  and 
white  harbor  light.    The  white,  trim  village,  almost 
every  cottage  with  its  pier  and  fish-house  jutting 
from  the  low  cliif  out  into  the  water,  lines  the  har- 
bor on  this,  the  whole  northeastern  side  of  Bryer 
Island ;  and  behind,  the  hay  slopes  rise  until  they 
meet   the  belt  of  spruce  and  fir  against  the  sky. 
A  quiet  scene  enough  upon  the  six  evenings  of  the 
week ;  but  on  this  seventh,  as  the  fishing-boats  are 
coming  in,  every  available   inhabitant  of  the  vil- 
lage,  and  that  is  almost    literally  to  say  of  the 
island,  has  crowded  to  the  piers. 

Many  of  the  women  show  some  token  of  their 
household  employment  when  the  good  news  reached 
them,  and  which  in  their  haste  they  had  forgotten 
to  drop.  One  has  thrown  over  her  head  for  cov- 
ering the  towel  with  which  she  was  wiping  her 
crockery;  while  she  stands  listening  to  her  vol- 
uble neighbor,  who  is  gesticulating  with  a  fish- 
knife.     A  few  have  caught  up  their  knitting,  and 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


a 


are  the  more  loquacious,  the  more  rapidly  their  un- 
conscious fingers  work.  As  for  the  children,  they 
are  in  every  one's  way,  under  every  one's  feet ; 
dancing,  screaming,  tumbling,  not  heeding  in  the 
smallest  degree  the  cuffs  and  threats  they  receive 
without  stint  from  their  elders.  For  a  great  joy  is 
often  as  irritating  to  the  nerves  or  temper  as  a  sor- 
row or  a  pain  :  and  the  fishing-boats  are  coming 
in,  in  the  wake  of  stormy  weather. 

Soon  they  are  near  enough  for  shouted  greetings 
back  and  forth ;  and  then  come  personal  and 
family  news,  jokes  and  loud  laughter ;  tidings  of 
vessels  that  are  laggards,—  all  the  gay  chatter  and 
excitement  of  return  after  a  most  anxious  week  of 
absence. 

It  is  somewhat  apart  from  the  noisy  throng  that 
these  two  are  standing :  the  man  above  the   me- 
dium   height,    strongly,   even    powerfully,  made; 
the  girl  looking  slight  and  ahnost  childHke,  as  she 
leans  by  the  side   of  her  companion,  with  arms 
folded  on  the  wooden   railing  which  for  a  score 
of  feet  fences  the  bit  of  sea-wall  overlooking  the 
piers.     The  low  columnar  cliff  just  here  has  been 
helped  out  by  man's  hand,  building  up  its  fallen 
stones,   quarried   by  nature ;   fragments   lie   scat- 
tered  beneath,  brown-green   with   rock-weed   and 
white  with  barnacles ;  and  here  and  there  a  reach 
of  black  basaltic  pavement  underlies  the  clear  wa- 
ter.   The  spot  is  a  good  post  of  observation.    That 
the  two  who  are  looking  down  from  it,  upon  the 
busy  scene,  are   only  spectators,  is   evident;   yet 
there  is  no  doubt  of  their  interest  in  it. 


4  PILOT  FORTUNE. 

"  Angus  has  made  a  good  haul,"  remarks  the 
girl,  as  an  old  brown,  criss-cross-w) 'nkled  fisher- 
man to  whom  they  have  been  speaking  moves 
away.  "Of  course  he  will  not  acknowledge  as 
much  ;  but  as  he  has  not  said  one  word  of  grum- 
bling, one  can't  help  suspecting  him  of  good  luck. 
Ah,  see  there,  Stephen :  is  n't  that  a  strange  boat  ? 
The  one  just  coming  alongside  the  pier,  I  mean," 
she  adds,  eagerly  pointing  out  the  alien  craft  her 
quick  eye  has  detected. 

"  She  is  a  beauty !  "  exclaims  Stephen,  in  ad- 
miration. "She  hasn't  had  much  of  a  taste  of 
salt  water  yet,  judging  from  her  paint ;  and,"  he 
adds  critically,  "she  carries  too  much  sail  to  be 
altogether  safe," 

Just  then,  the  little  vessel  they  are  commenting 
on  being  made  fast,  a  man  scrambles  from  out 
her,  up  the  side  of  the  pier,  —  a  man  in  the  dress 
of  a  sailor,  but  with  very  little  of  the  rough  appear- 
ance of  a  fisherman  after  a  week's  exposure  to  sun 
and  weather.  There  is  too  much  dandyism  in  his 
costume  not  to  show  it  is  an  assumed  rather  than 
habitual  dress ;  and  though  he  does  not  refuse  to 
give  a  helping  hand  to  the  men  when  necessary, 
still,  landing  the  fish  is  by  no  means  a  matter  of 
interest  to  him,  and  he  appears  to  prefer  laughing 
and  joking  with  the  women. 

"  What  a  prince  he  is !  "  exclaims  Milicent, 
laughing.  She  has  forgotten  to  look  at  the  fishing- 
smacks,  in  the  interest  or  curiosity  this  stranger 
awakens.  "  I  wonder  where  he  comes  from,  and 
what  has  brought  him  here  ?    One  would  think  he 


i 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  $ 

intended  to  stay  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  from  the 
way  ho  seems  to  make  himself  at  home." 

"Whom  are  you  talking  of?"  asks  Stephen. 
He  has  been  watching  the  handsome  little  yacht 
so  intently  that  he  has  not  seen  its  owner  on  the 
wharf.     "  Where  is  your  prince  ?  " 

"Don't  you  see  him?  I  wonder  if  he  thinks 
French  flannel  durable,  or  only  becoming  ?  " 

But  Stephen,  instead  of  looking  in  the  direction 
indicated   by   Milicent,   is   watching   one   of   the 
sloops,   which,   perhaps   from   carelessness   in   its 
skipper,  is  perilously  grazing  a  ledge  of  the  black 
pavement  here  underlying  the  water.     Before  he 
can  exclaim,  the  mischief   is  done:    the   fishing- 
boat   has  stuck  fast.     Fortunately,  the  water  be- 
neath the  cliff  is  shallow  at  this  time,  and  the  tide 
is  running  out,  —  a  less  chance  for  the  little  vessel 
to  float  off,  but  not  so  difficult  a  performance  on 
the  fishermen's  part  to  give  a  helping  hand.     In  a 
few  minutes  the  men  are  splashing  v^aist-deep  into 
the  water.     There  is  shouting,  swearing,  and  giv- 
ing of  directions;  and  then,  with  a  push  all  to- 
gether, in  unison  with   a   musical   cry  or   chant, 
which  to  the  uninitiated  seems  an  unnecessary  ex- 
penditure  of  breath,  the  little  craft  swings  slowly 
round,  safely  afloat  once  more. 

Stephen  was  one  of  the  first  to  go  to  the  assist- 
ance of  the  stranded  boat.  He  took  off  his  coat, 
and  threw  it  at  Milicent's  feet ;  and  before  she 
had  time  to  ask  even  what  he  would  do,  he  had 
jomed  the  fishermen. 
The  stranger  is  the  only  idle  man  ashore.     Per- 


6 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


ha})8  ho  thinkR  it  an  uncomfortublo  position  to  be 
working,'  waist-deep  in  water:  or  he  may  have 
known  tliat  his  assistance  is  unnecessary.  At  any 
rate,  ho  walks  away  from  the  pier,  rather  than 
towards  the  end  of  it  where  are  the  women  and 
chihh'on. 

Milieent  stays  where  Stephen  left  her.  She  is 
watching  the  boat  with  great  interest:  for  even 
after  it  is  afloat,  and  the  men,  drij>ping  wet,  have 
come  back  to  land,  she  yet  stands  quite  still,  shad- 
ing her  eyes  with  her  hands  from  the  glare  of  the 
sun  on  the  water. 

"  She  is  all  right  now,  and  lucky  to  get  off  the 
ledge  so  easily.  Were  you  anxious  about  the  fish 
or  the  fisher  ?  " 

The  intonation  of  the  voice  is  so  different  from 
that  of  the  fishermen,  that  Milieent  knows,  before 
she  turns  her  head  to  answer,  it  is  the  owner  of  the 
yacht  who  is  speaking  to  her.  "  Why  should  I 
feel  any  interest  in  him  ?  "  she  asks  sharply. 

"I  don't  know  why,  only  you  seemed  to,"  he 
answers  good-humoredly. 

"  It  was  the  fish  I  was  thinking  of.  I  was  in 
hopes  they  would  have  to  lighten  the  boat  by 
throwing  them  overboard,"  Milieent  explains. 

There  is  a  look  of  surprise  in  the  stranger's  eyes 
when  she  turns  to  answer  him.  Her  blue  cotton 
dress  and  coarse  straw  hat,  as  well  as  her  eager  in- 
terest in  the  fate  of  the  boat,  misled  him  into  sup- 
posing her  one  of  the  fishermen's  daughters ;  but 
a  glance  at  her  face  gives  him  a  very  different  im- 
pression. 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  J 

It  ia  a  very  beaut*  1  face,  and  the  delicately  cut 
features  could  scarcely  have  belonged  to  a  class  for 
generations  used  to  hardships  and  exposure.  There 
is  no  shyness  nor  fear  in  the  brown  eyes  scanning 
him,  though  there  is  nuich  mirth.  lie  thinks  it  is 
his  unlucky  mistake  which  amuses  her ;  but  in  re- 
ality it  is  his  api)earance.  She  has  a  great  con- 
tempt for  what  she  terms  dandyism ;  and  for  a 
man  to  think  of  the  becoming  in  his  dress  is  sheer 
silliness,  in  her  opinion. 

As  it  is  the  blue  flannel  shirt  she  is  laughing  at, 
it  is  just  as  well  he  misunderstands  the  cause  of 
her  mirth.  ''  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  says,  quite 
frankly.  "  I  really  took  you  for  one  of  the  fisher- 
folk.  I  never  dreamed  you  were  sympathizing 
with  the  fish." 

"I  ought  to  have  felt  an  interest  in  the  boat,  for 
it  was  our  winter's  supply  that  came  near  being 
lost,"  answers  Milicent.  "  But  1  dislike  coddies, 
and  would  gladly  have  seen  them  thrown  over- 
board." 

"The  fishermen  do  not  share  your  prejudice 
against  them,"  he  says,  laughing.  "They  were 
like  misers  in  a  gold-mine,  and  seemed  to  regret 
that  so  many  of  the  fish  had  to  be  wasted  by  be- 
ing left  in  the  ocean  ;  though  to  my  inexperienced 
eyes  they  seemed  to  have  caught  enough  to  supply 
the  world  for  a  year  at  least.  I  never  expected," 
he  adds,  "to  find  a  lady  on  this  rock  between  three 
seas." 

He  uses  the  word  "  lady »  without  hesitation ; 
and  yet  he  is  evidently  curious  as  to  her  position, 


8 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


— which  curiosity  Milicent  sees  and  resents.  "  Will 
you  please  tell  Stephen  I  am  waiting  for  him  ? 
Ihe  gentleman  yonder  without  his  coat,"  she  ex- 
plains, with  an  imperious  gesture,  as  if  she  were 
speaking  to  one  of  the  fishermen. 

He  laughs,  but  does  not  move.  "  He  is  comino-  " 
he  says.  "  But  ne  is  too  wet  to  walk  home  with  you. 
Your  friend  is  evidently  not  afraid  of  salt  water." 
He  speaks  advisedly,  thinking  she  might  correct 
him,  and  say  they  are  related.  But  she  does  not, 
ana  only  replies,  "The  tailor  does  not  make  the 
gentleman  here,  so  we  don't  mind  spoilincr  our 
clothes :  "  and  then  calls  to  Stephen,  who  is  hastily 
advancing  towards  her. 

"If  I  h.d  known  you  were  going  to  help  the 
men,  I  would  not  have  come.  You  can't  walk 
home  with  me  in  that  plight." 

"I  did  not  expect  to  be  of  any  use  "  savs  Stephen 
good-humoredly.  "  But  of  course  I  could  noi:  have 
stood  by,  and  not  have  helped  Thomas  in  his  ex- 
tremity.    I  am  sorry,  Jiough  "  — 

"  Some  people  could  have  resisted  the  tempta- 
tion,  interrupts  Milicent,  glancing  at  the  stranger, 
with  a  laugh  in  her  eyes. 

But  Stephen  does  not  understand  her  hint,  nor 
even  see  there  is  any  one  near  them. 

"  If  you  will  tell  Miss  Ursula  that  we  have  saved 
the  fish,  she  will  be  glad  to  hear  the  good  news. 
And  then,  if  you  will  say  that  it  was  aU  my  fault 
that  jvu  came  here,  and  that  "  — 

But  Milicent  stops  him,  with  a  movement  of  her 
hand  towards  the  stranger^ 


-  ^. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


9 


Stephen  shakes  hands  with  him,  and  welcomes 
him  heartily,  very  much  as  if  he  were  a  guest  of 
his  own  ;  a  proceeding  which  rather  amuses  the  re- 
cipient, who  has  an  idea  he  has  as  much  right  to 
be  on  the  seashore  as  Stephen  himseK,  but  which 
he  takes  in  good  part. 

"  If  I  could  be  of  any  use  to  you,  and  could  see 
the  young  lady  home  "  —  he  begins,  a  little  eagerly. 
"  The  young  lady  knows  her  way  perfectly,"  she 
interrupts. 

"  But  you  did  not  intend  to  go  alone ;  and  I  will 
be  too  hapjDy  if  you  will  let  me  take  the  place  of 
your  friend." 

"  Miss  Ursula  won't  be  able  to  find  any  fault,  if 
there  is  a  stranger  with  you,"  suggests  Stephen  in 
a  whisper,  as  he  stoops  to  take  up  his  coat. 

Still  Milicent  hesitates.  Is  her  dignity  worth 
preserving,  at  the  sacrifice  of  so  good  a  chance  of 
escaping  from  the  much-dreaded  fault-finding? 
Scarcely,  she  thinks,  and  therefore  gives  a  gra- 
cious permission  to  the  stranger  to  go  with  her ; 
leaving  Stephen  to  struggle  into  his  coat  as  best 
he  may,  in  his  drenched  state,  and  then  to  take  a 
shorter  path  across  the  fields  to  his  own  home. 

"Are  you  very  much  in  a  hurry?  "asks  Mili- 
cent's  new  acquaintance.  "  I  have  been  so  little 
on  terra  firma  of  late  that  a  race  is  beyond  my 
powers,  I  fear." 

"  I  am  not  walking  at  all  fast,"  asserts  Milicent, 
nevertheless  slackening  her  pace. 

They  have  passed,  by  now,  the  last  of  the  strag- 
o — o    -'"fe^-  xiOuofco,  ito  giiuiu  to  the  Street,  and 


10 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


double  bow-windows,  like  most  of  its  fellows,  filled 
with  rare   geraniums  and  fuchsias.      There  is  a 
clump  of  bleeding-heart  and  white  spirea  by  the 
doorsteps;  one  tall,  scanUeaved  balm-of-Gilead  tree 
keepmg  up  a  breezy  rattle  overhead,  -  at  watch,  as 
It  wer^  upon  the  cottage,  in  the  midst  of  its  green 
hay-field,  with  the  "  fish-flakes,"  or  long  lattices, 
laid  honzontally  on  props,  and  lining,  with  their 
rows  of  drying  cod,  both  sides  of  the  garden  walk 
to  the  v,hite  gate  upon  the  street.     Beyond  aJl 
these,  and  past  the  point  of  rocks,  and  up   the 
grassy  slope  behind,  climbs  Milicent,  the  stranger 
at  her  .de.    "Have  you  been  long  with  the  fisher- 
men ?    she  asks  him,  with  a  woman's  laudable  de- 
sire to  make  conversation. 

"  Nearly  a  week.  I  was  at  Grand  Manan  with 
my  yacht,  and  feU  in  with  the  boats  off  the  banks. 
J-  was  anxious  to  see  something  of  the  fishing,  and 
to  know  a  little  of  the  hardships  of  the  life.  Thev 
are  a  brave  set  of  feUows,"  he  adds,  wiUing  to  pro- 
pitiate her  by  a  compliment  to  her  fellow-townsmen. 
Do  you  think  so?"  asks  Milicent,  carelessly, 
iiiey  are  no  novelty  to  me." 

f7,"lr^.T^''^^''  *^'  ^'^""^  ^«^«r«  interesting 
than  the  fishermen,"  he  answers,  laughing. 

"  Even  that  I  do  not  comprehend.     The  fisher 
men   ook  upon  their  work  as  the  very  hardest,  and 
complain  of   the  great  exposure ;  and  yet  you  re- 
gard It  as  mere  pleasant  pastime,"  the  girl  says 
really  puzzled  by  the  difference  of  opinion. 

"That  is  only  because  the  men  grow  accustomed 
W)  It.     Most  things  are  disa^TeeablP.  fhu^.  w. 


Wow: 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


11 


obliged  to  do  day  after  day.  StiU,  I  have  no 
doubt  every  fisherman  here  can  remember  the 
delight  he  felt  on  his  first  fishing  voyage." 

"Perhaps  so,"  she  assents,  doubtfully.  "But 
I  must  confess  I  can't  see  how  work  can  ever  be 
looked  upon  with  delight :  and  fishing  is  decidedlv 
work."  ^ 

"I  can  understand  how  enforced  idleness  can  be 
an  awful  bore." 

"  One  need  n't  be  idle  because  one  is  doing  noth- 
ing," asserts  Milicent. 

"  I  don't  see  well  how  you  can  help  being  so. 
If  you  are  really  doing  nothing,  you  are  not  em- 
ployed." 

"  You  talk  as  well  on  the  subject  as  Aunt  Ur- 
sula !  "  The  girl  shrugs  her  shoulders  skeptically. 
"  I  was  not  idle  when  I  was  yonder  in  Westport 
watching  the  boats.  Aunt  Ursula  would  have  said 
I  had  better  be  darning  the  house-linen ;  but  I 
thmk  I  was  much  better  occupied." 

"  The  most  tyrannical  of  aunts  could  scarcely  ex- 
pect you  to  sit  in-doors  on  such  a  day  as  this,"  he 
begms  sympathetically. 

"  Oh,  I  need  not  sit  in-doors.  I  can  take  my 
work  where  I  please.  It  is  the  constant  stitching, 
whether  I  wish  to  or  not,  that  I  detest.  And  there 
IS  no  end  to  it.  I  suppose  most  people  buy  new 
house-lmen  every  now  and  then ;  but  we  never  do. 
Aunt  Ursula  says  she  cannot  afford  to." 

This  is  said  with  such  a  weary,  aggrieved  tone, 
that  the  ci-devant  fisherman  can  with  difficulty 
keep  from  laughing,  —  which  fact  Milicent  detects 


.  I 


i 


12 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


at  once.     Half  angry,  half  ashamed,   she  turns 
sharply  round  to  him:  but  checks  herself  in  time, 
wisely  thmkmg  it  better  not  to  resent  his  mirth 
much  as  she  dislikes  it.  ' 

^^  "See,  there  is  our  house,"  she  says  abruptly. 
A   /r  T'""  '^^  ^^ything  so  old  and  hideous?" 
A  diftcult  question  to  answer,  unless  one  could 
be  quite  frank,  and  agree  with  the  questioner. 

Ihe  house  is  certainly  old,  with  an  uncanny  look 
about  Its  weather-beaten,  gray-brown  face,  which 
m  men  and  houses  hints  of  haunted  rooms  and 
skeletons.  Its  builders,  unlike  the  wiser  cottagers, 
were  not  thrifty  of  their  windows,  in  this  ^ndy 
climate :  there  is  a  great  number  of  them,  all 
stuck  into  the  wrong  end  of  the  house :  for  thev 
stare  out  from  the  ^able  to  the  open  sea,  at  watch 
tor  the  prevailing  southeast  storms. 

Not  a  shrub  nor  a  tree  grows  near,  except  that 
on  one  side  there  is  a  wind-bared  skeleton  with  a 
few  breezy  leaves  atop;  which,  however,  only  seems 
to  make  the  building  more  noticeable,  as  it  does 
not  shade  it  in  the  least.      The  situation  is  too 
bleak  and  exposed  for  anything  but  the  closest- 
woven   turf  pressing  to  the  ground.      A  garden 
might  have  been   made   behind ;    hardy  creepers 
might  possibly  have   been   induced   to   cover  up 
some  of  the  dismal  ugliness  of  the  staring  walls 
lull  of  shutterless  windows.    But  there  is  e^ddently 
no  loving  hand  to  do  the  work. 

"  It  is  a  large  house,"  Milicent's  new  acquaint- 
ance says  at  last,  not  knowing  what  remark  to 
make  but  this  self-evident  one. 


K. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


13 


"  And  has  a  great  many  windows,"  adds  Mili- 
cent.  "  I  never  Iieard  any  other  observation  made 
at  the  first  look  at  our  mansion.  But  we  have  a 
tree,  and  that  is  something  that  not  every  house 
in  the  village  can  boast,"  she  asserts,  with  doubt- 
ful pride  in  it. 

"  What  do  you  call  it  ?  " 

"A  tree,"  she  says,  half  suspecting  him  of 
laughing  at  it ;  "a  balm-of-Gilead." 

"There  does  not  seem  to  be  much  balm  in 
Gllead,"  he  says,  looking  up  into  the  scant  foliage, 
which  makes  up  in  sound  what  it  lacks  in  shade. 
"  Well,  home  is  home,  though  ever  so  homely.  It 
is  certainly  an  old  homestead." 

"  But  not  ours,  for  Aunt  Ursula  rents  it.  Not 
that  I  can  remember  any  other  home,"  she  adds 
quickly,  as  if  she  would  do  away  with  the  im- 
pression she  might  have  made  that  she  is  new  to 
the  place. 

She  pushes  aside,  as  she  speaks,  a  gate  in  the 
gray-brown  pitch-pole  fence ;  and  for  a  moment 
she  seems  to  hesitate  whether  to  dismiss  the  stran- 
ger or  ask  him  in.  But  he  does  not  or  will  not 
notice  her  indecision.  His  meeting  Milicent  is 
something  of  an  adventure,  and  he  is  inclined  to 
make  the  most  of  it. 

Perhaps  the  sight  of  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  a 
woman  standing  in  the  doorway  decides  Milicent 
to  be  hospitable;  for  she  lets  him  follow  her 
across  the  yard,  as  if  it  wmyq  an  act  on  his  part 
that  she  expects. 

"  Aunt  Ursula,  this  is"  —  Milicent  breaks  down 


'pPT" 


14 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


there,  in  confusion  at  not  knowing  the  name  of  her 
companion:  but  recovers  herself  in  a  moment,  and 
adds  — "a  gentleman  Stephen  asked  to  walk  home 
with  me,  as  he  could  not  come  himself." 

"I  did  not  know  you  were  out.  I  had  your  prom- 
ise to  do  some  work  which  ought  to  have  kept  you 
occupied  all  day,"  Miss  Ursula  answers  shortly. 
Neither  Stephen's  name  nor  the  presence  of  a 
stranger  has  had  the  effect  Milicent  hoped  for. 

"  Stephen  came  to  take  ^ne  to  see  the  fishing- 
boats  come  in,"  replies  Milicent,  carelessly ;  and 
then,  turning  to  her  visitor,  she  says,  "  Perhaps  if 
you  would  teU  me  your  name,  so  that  I  could  intro- 
duce you  properly,  my  aunt  might  notice  you." 

"My  name  is  Vrquhart,"  he  answers,  not  think- 
ing it  at  all  worth  while  to  give  any  more  informa- 
tion about  himself. 

"You  have  a  Scottish  name,"  says  Miss  Ursula, 
for  the  first  time  turning  to  look  at  him.  « If  you 
have  come  here  for  pleasure  you  wiU  not  tarry  very 
long.  We  fisher-folk  have  nothing  about  us  to  in- 
terest strangers.  And  we  are  far  too  poor  to  be 
idle  ;  so  you  wiU  pardon  me  if  I  tell  you  we  do  not 
receive  visitors." 

Though  it  is  Miss  Ursula's  evident  intention  to 
put  herself  on  a  footing  with  the  fishing-people  in 
the  village,  Urquhart  is  very  sure  she  has  nothing 
in  common  with  them  save  poverty.  Her  scant, 
black  dress,  ahnost  nun-like  in  its  fashion,  seems  io 
him  more  a  masquerade  than  her  usual  attire. 
Neither  are  her  hands,  roughened  by  toil,  tokens  of 
a  life  which  is  hard  and  painful  —  any  real  evi- 


I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


16 


dence  that  she  belongs  to  the  class  she  has  claimed. 
Rude  as  her  words  were,  IJrquhart  does  not  feel 
altogether  repelled.  However,  he  would  not  have 
presumed  to  cross  her  threshold  after  such  a  dis- 
missal, though  Milicent  seems  rather  anxious  he 
should.  Her  aunt's  want  of  civility  has  the  effect 
of  making  the  girl  much  more  gracious ;  and  she 
bids  him  good-by  cordially,  as  if  she  were  sure 
they  would  meet  again.  When  he  turns  to  latch 
the  gate  he  sees  her  standing  watching  him. 

"  Milicent,  are  you  mad,  that  you  bring  a  stranger 
here  ?  "  asks  Miss  Ursula,  angrily,  as  soon  as  Ur- 
quhart  is  out  of  hearing.  "Cannot  your  girlish 
vanity  withstand  a  fool's  look  of  admiration  ?  At 
least  you  need  not  have  asked  him  to  the  house." 

"  I  told  you  Stephen  sent  him,"  answers  Mili- 
cent, raising  her  hand,  as  she  speaks,  to  shade  her 
eyes,  so  that  she  may  see  Urquhart's  retreating  fig- 
ure the  better. 

"Stephen!  What  does  Stephen  care  ?  He  would 
bring  the  sea  into  the  house  if  he  thought  it  would 
give  you  any  pleasure." 

"  That  would  be  rather  an  injudicious  kindness. 
But  Mr.  —  Usher,  or  whatever  his  name  is,  will  be 
much  more  easily  gotten  rid  of.  I  doubt  if  he  will 
ever  come  again,  after  your  reception  of  him." 

"  Did  you  wish  me  to  ask  him  to  dinner  ?  or 
perhaps  you  would  have  preferred  my  pressing  him 
to  stay  here  ?  There  are  rooms  enough  in  the  house 
for  guests,"  returns  Miss  Ursula,  ironically. 

"It  does  not  make  the  slightest  difference  to 
me,"  answers  Milicent  coolly,  "  whether  he  stavs 


16 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


here  or  I  never  see  him  again ;  for  I  don't  feel  the 
shghtest  interest  in  him.  But  he  seems  to  feel  a 
great  deal  m  us.  He  is  standing  at  the  gate,  star- 
mg  at  the  house  as  if  it  were  one  of  the  curiosities 
oi  the  place." 

"It  is  much  more  likely  that  he  is  looking  at 
you.  Do  come  in  and  shut  the  door,  or  he  will  be 
makmg  an  excuse  to  come  back  again  " 

Milicent  laughs  an  odd,  mocking  laugh,  but  does 
as  she  IS  bidden.  Nevertheless,  she  watches  Ur- 
quhart  furtively  from  the  window  until  he  is  out 
ot  sight. 

It  may  have  been  that  she  only  wished  to  be 
sure  he  is  not  lurking  near ;  for  as  soon  as  he  is 
gone,  she  takes  her  work-basket,  and  goes  out-of- 
doors,  turning  her  back  on  the  old  house,  that  truly 
looks  sadly  buffeted  and  ill-used  by  wind  and 
weather,  as  it  keeps  its  post,  a  beacon  to  the 
sailors. 

On  a  fogless   day  like  this,  the   high   ground 
where  it  stands  overlooks  well-nigh  the  whole  of 
the  three-mile  island ;  a  rock  between  three  seas, 
as  Its  visitor  has  called  it.    Yonder,  Westport  Har- 
bor, or  Grand  Passage,  links  with  silver  band  the 
shoreless,  boisterous  Bay  of  Fundy-with  Grand 
Manan  a  mere  cloud  on  its  bosom -to  calm  Bay 
St.  Mary,  bordered  by  the  Nova  Scotian  mainland, 
the  "French  Shore,"  where  more  than  a  centurJ 
ago   some   stragglers   from   Evangeline's   part   of 
Acadie  wandered  down  to  these  more  hospitable 
coasts,  and  have  since  dwelt  there,  a  people  half 
apart.     Even  now,  as  Milicent  looks,  she  can  see 


-  Lyi, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


17 


where  old  Denis  the  pilot's  boat  comes  fluttering 
into  Westport,  with  the  French  flag  flying  from 
the  mast-head. 

Far  more  pleasant  than  in-doors  is  it  to  be  out 
in  the  soft  air,  even  under  the  sunny  balm-of-Gil- 
ead.  But  Milicent  only  glances  askance  at  that 
familiar  seat;  then,  with  her  work-basket  on  her 
arm,  she  wanders  away  to  where  the  slope  seems 
to  break  off  with  a  rolling  grassy  edge  against  the 
sea. 

But  only  seems ;  for  as  she  ncars  the  edge,  with 
just  a  fringe  of  spruce  and  fir  dwarfs  bearing  off 
from  it,  she  looks  down  from  the  dizzy  height  upon 
a  strange  chaotic  world  of  rock  and  water.  It  has 
been  Milicent's  dream-world  ever  since  she  could 
remember.  Torn  out  of  the  side  of  the  island  by 
some  convidsive  throe  of  nature,  the  dark  basaltic 
rocks  rise  up  in  pinnacles  and  broken  turrets,  as  of 
a  huge  fortress  in  ruins,  at  the  girl's  feet ;  and 
strewn  on  the  wide  pavement  reaching  out  beneath 
into  the  water  lie  great  octagons,  columnar  bases, 
unfinished  pillars,  —  all  the  scattered  fragmentary 
blocks  left  over  by  the  Master-Builder.  Billows 
come  in  raging  here  at  every  turn  of  tide,  however 
calmly  they  may  swell  beyond,  and  spring  to  climb 
these  battlements,  and  fall  back,  broken,  on  the 
rocks  below.  The  v:ild,  strong  music  of  their  on- 
rush reaches  Milicent ;  inspiriting  as  a  trumpet 
blast,  but  hardly  for  the  sort  of  work  she  takes 
into  her  hands,  as  she  drops  down  on  a  knoll  that 
overhangs  the  cliffs. 

With  the  low  green  boughs  screening  her  from 


1 


18 


PILOT  FORTUNli. 


the  westering  s,m,  she  works  o„  diligently,  never 

^eaily  an  hour  ],assos  ;   but  she  is  still  there  at 

her  n.ouoionous  task.     One  would  suppose  she  is 

rymg  to  n.ake  up  for  the  tiu.e  spent'S  watehing 

h       ™:lu  ,    "  «^'""«-»'-''-  -'•  -  determined 

On  into  the  late  sunset  she  sits  with  her  work, 
tt   J  r'/      ■"",  '■  *'"'°"  ''"^^'"S  "ear,  ae™' 

look  up,  though  no  doubt  she  knows  very  well  it  is 

sS'o?  ?"''""  ^"* '''"  ''«-*^  ""^«  --:! 

scous  of  ks  presence ;  and  he  has  to  approach 
near  enough  to  speak  to  her  befor.  sh^  e^„ 
glances  at  him.  ™ 

"Di^t!  ''Jl^^S^'  ^"-»<''  MiUy?"  Stephen  asks, 
i'lrt  you  hke  your  new  acquaintance  •>  " 
"He   did  weU   enough,"  she  answers,  without 

rirr  /,''"^^.^''«  d  be  cross  •  but  I  did  not  ex- 
pect her  to  be  quite  as  rude  as  she  was.    Of  course 

Ursl's"b  "^    "  "'  P°"'^  ^^  ^'^''^^ '«  ""^^  Aunt 
hi  In  l^Tf'""'' '  ^°'*  ""^  I  '"'^e  not  a  doubt 

stupid  I     I  wish  I  ha.1  not  let  him  walk  home  with 

^igriTo:'.^"' '  ^''^ '  "^^  -  --  -  *S 

«  Perhaps  he  'U  take  the  hint,  if  Miss  Ursula  was 
not  cordial,  and  think  it  best  to  stay  away.  At 
any  rate,  the  fellow  seems  daft  about  fishing,  ami 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


19 


I  can  manapje  to  keep  him  busy  ;  for  of  course  he 
will  not  be  here  very  long,"  says  Stephen,  hope- 
fully. 

"  If  he  proves  troublesome,  you  can  easily  drown 
him,"  Milicent  replies,  dropping  her  work,  and 
looking  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

Stephen  laughs  ;  not  so  much  at  the  prospect  of 
making  away  with  Urquhart  as  at  the  smile  ho 
has  won. 

"  Let  us  go  up  to  the  High  Knoll,"  he  proposes. 
"  The  sun  has  nearly  set,  and  you  like  to  see  him 
die  royally." 

She  has  let  her  work  slip  out  of  her  fingers ;  but 
now  she  takes  it  up  again,  and  begins  to  stitch  dili- 
gently. 

"I  have  no  time  for  sunsets  :  Aunt  iJrsula  has 
brought  me  up  with  a  round  turn.  And  besides," 
she  says,  a  sly  little  dimple  lurking  about  her 
pretty  mouth,  —  "  you  would  leave  me  to  come 
home  alone,  or  coolly  turn  me  over  to  Mr.  Ur- 
quhart." 

*'  And  if  I  do,  you  ought  not  to  complain,"  says 
Stephen,  laughing.  "  You  have  completely  turned 
his  head.  I  met  him  in  the  village,  and  he  did 
nothing  but  talk  of  you.  I  found  some  difficulty 
in  getting  him  to  speak  rationally." 

"  Thanks,"  says  Milicent ;  and  the  monosyllable, 
shorn  of  all  amenities,  sounds  like  a  small  stone 
flimg  at  him. 

"  Is  there  any  harm  in  my  telling  you  ?  I  am 
sure  I  did  n't  mean  any,"  he  says  humbly. 

*'  I  know  you  did  n't.     But  if  you  had  asked  if 


20 


PILOT  FORTimE. 


Mr.  Urquhait  hiid  meant  to  bo  im„prf!n„„f 
quostion  .,.i„.t  ,„,,„  ,  .,iffo..e„t  a.X  "         '  '"" 
"Impertinent?"  repeats  St,.pl,on,  in  «„  un^er 
tarn  wa,,  a»  ,f  doubtful  wbetl.r  be  U.  reall,  be^d 

"Everybody,"  say.,   Milieont,  witb  a  „.„„k  air 
of ^^res,g„at,„n,  >•  eannot   bo  caeO,  like  tbat  fi: 

,,. 'Noll 

"l.«  wrolc  like  .„  angol,  „„d  talkcl  i;k«  Poor  Poll ._ 

l>nt  at  lea.st  you  numage  a  balf  reHcn.blanec  when 
you  repeat  n.y  wor.l.s  like  a  parrot.     Ves  t'^Trf 

first  taking  „,o  f„,.  a  iisbwomau,  goes  to  tbo  t  oub  e 
to  rave  about  nic  "  —  - -louuie 

feetlv  T  '"  ''t!  "'"  '"^  "">■"""«  *'''  ^"^  not  per- 
fectly true      It  was  only  tbat  you  are  pretty  "  1 

I  don^  ''  T  T  ''""'''  '"''  «l'<'<"^^''<-'»  ^««-  Only 
1  don  t  care  for  thorn  at  second  hand."  ^ 

JIZ  ^T  "  ^\'"'  April  %,  half  cloudy  and 
half  laughing  as  she  fla.shes  „p  a  sidelong  iance 
at  lum,  with  those  last  words  ^ 

color  floods  la.  thiia%:tr;e.r -4:^ 

gers  at  such  of  the  buttercups  an,l  the  pink  sheer'. 
1  urel  as  g:.ow  within  her  reach.     plsenttyL: 

fjll  r  '■''■  '"'"'"  "»  ™P='««nt  gesture, 

^o  aid  T  "''    "  r"'"'"  "^S*^'"-     "Why  doi't  you 
go  and  looii  a :  the  simaaf  9     t  ,       ''^ 

faster  alone."        "'''""'^*-     I  can  work  much 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


21 


Stephen  rises  at  once.  There  in  a  look  of  pain 
in  his  face,  but  not  the  slightt^st  trace  of  anger. 

"  Gootl-by,  Milly,"  h<>  says.  "  I  did  n't  mean 
to  be  in  your  way.  I  am  sorry  I  got  you  into  any 
trouble.     You  may  ))e  sure  I  never  meant  it." 

He  is  looking  at  her  wistfully,  but  she  never 
raises  her  eyes  from  her  work. 

"  There  is  no  quarreling  with  you  comfortably," 
she  siiys,  with  a  shrug.  "  One  is  so  apt  to  get  one's 
ears  boxed  with  a  text  of  Scripture." 

"  A  text  of  Scripture,  Milly  ?  " 

"  If  you  did  n't  quote  it,  you  implied  it :  *  A 
soft  answer  tumeth  away  wrath.'     Good-by." 

In  and  out  goes  her  needle,  with  all  the  regu- 
larity of  a  neat  darn.  So  low  the  long  brown 
lashes  sweep  on  the  flushed  cheek,  Stephen  mar- 
vels how  she  can  be  looking  at  the  stitches. 
Milly's  lashes  are  like  no  one  else's,  he  is  think- 
ing ;  the  silken  fringe  upon  the  lower  lid  is  so  long 
and  thick  and  soft,  as  it  curves  downward. 

He  watches  her  a  moment  longer ;  then,  as  she 
never  moves,  but  for  the  small  swift  hands,  he 
turns  away,  and  walks  off  slowly. 

Still  Milicent  works  on,  with  praiseworthy  stead- 
iness. But  when  Stephen  is  too  far  away  to  see, 
she  buries  her  face  in  the  well-worn  damask  she  is 
mending,  —  a  token  of  better  days,  —  and  cries 
bitterly. 

Are  they  tears  of  contrition,  or  mere  silly  ones 
of  mortification  ?  It  is  hard  to  tell,  and  no  one 
comes  near  her  to  ask. 

Perhaps  she  is  not  sorry  for  the  neglect.     For 


22 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


after  a  while  slie  gather,  „p  her  work,  and  goes  in- 
doors and  up  to  her  own  room,  where  she  bathes 
her  eyes,  and  takes  some  time  aad  trouble  to  re- 
move all  traces  of  tears  from  her  face  before  she 
goes  down-stairs  again. 


i 


II. 


"  Oh,  to  be 

By  the  sea,  the  sea. 
While  a  brave  nor'wester  's  blowing, 

With  a  swirl  on  the  lea, 

Of  cloud-foam  free, 
And  a  spring-tide  deeply  flowing  I 

Witli  the  low  moon  red  and  large 

O'er  the  flushed  horizon's  marge. 
And  a  little  pink  hand  in  mine. 
On  the  sands  in  the  long  moonshine  ! " 

That  the  seventh  day  of  the  week,  when  the 
fishing-boats  coire  in,  should  be  followed  by  the 
first,  when  the  boats  neither  come  in  nor  go  out 
(and  when,  moreover,  in  this  particular  case,  a  furi- 
ous southeaster  was  sweeping  from  the  Atlantic  to 
the  Bay  of  Fundy,  blotting  out  this  little  island  in 
its  low-hung  clouds  and  fog),  Urquhart  regarded  as 
a  mistake.  But  perhaps  if  this  ono  Saturday  could 
have  been  followed  by  a  sunshiny  Monday,  "  and 
fortune's  favor  filled  the  swelling  sails "  of  the 
gay  Undine,  he  would  have  sped  away  with  just 
a  half-curious  memory  of  the  sea-girt  islet  and  its 
sea-maid,  and  Milicent  would  be  of  those  fortunate 
ones  who  have  no  story. 

As  it  was,  from  lack  of  other  thoughts,  he 
thought  of  her,  and  even  went  as  far  as  the  door 
of  the  Baptist  meeting,  the  only  assemblage  of 
the  saints  this  day  upon  the  island,  —  the  English 
church  having  long  been  closed,  and   the   Meth- 


24 

PILOT  FORTUNE. 

odists  suffering  from  the  ffreat  R„  .•  . 

la«t  winter,  when  a  pause^fH     ?'"'  """''^^^  "^ 

gav^.,paeef„rthefiJ,ersof  „.en!      "''■''"  "^^''S 

fton/tL''rif  h/rhe'!'f ''"'^^''"^  ''^'»"  '-  heard 
■    i"  the  white  tow      '  J;    r-  "'  ''"  J-W  tl'e  door 

"f  We,  a.ul  of  t  e  b  ,  ws  :  ■"  ''"  "'  "'«  ^'«™« 
an<Uhro„gh  it  swelled  tl    ^  i"^  "^"'^  "'"•  ^'ead; 

«'e  <Ii.stanr  cliffs,  _:Tfflo:f"°"-  """^'""^  ^ 
tl'o  flood-s  have  lift     "l^^'^'J''''  "«en,  O  Lord, 

»P  their  waves."      The  '  ^"""^ '  ''"^  «"«*  ^t 

i"  on  the  weather-be^te/"""'  ^\^''*^'"™'  Peering 
of  the  fishermen,  as  ttv '  t  ''  "P'""'^''  ^^eet 
the  preacher,  telli,;  £„  '^^V^'T*'^  "^'™"'«  *« 
they  were  steenn.  for  h,  .    v         ''•'^'°  °^  ^"^ety 

that  his  voyag„./thro;.S  iirr:hi"iTT  ^"^ 
pthennse,  was  a  mere  tn„,  „  ^"''"'e  »>• 

it  is  these  men  who  oc'e„rf ^""7  .'""'  '"'^  "'at 
wa.e.     h     e.  „,  -X*^-    —  i^ 

-fo:L:t,1::era::^~t;r,nha!;  had  come 

the  few  women  who  W  !'":  ^'T''  *''^'  ™«»g 

storm,  Milieent    houl     Llh  "'"'u"'  '''■''''  «'« 
amuse  him.  '   "•"'  ''^^e   been   there   to 

4e^£le^Zr;t''   r    «-   -^-^wept 

%  but  that  ueitire,^:iiVrf  "'™"^''  *^'' 
eongregation.     So  there  wtM""'^  """"^  'he 
struggle  back  to  his  SinT   "f  ""f  ^o"-  ''  hut  to 
mastered  the  leading  ^i/irp^" ''''^ ''^'-''^ 
d.e,  interviewed  the°PH,  ee  "/t^ "'"'^  °^  '^"^ 

-pp'".s  of  oraud  Ma:::if^:,f cj  f:; 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


25 


lie  lieard 
the  door 
e  storms 
11'  head; 
iking  on 
O  Lord, 
oods  lift 
peering 
d  faces 
ning  to 
safety 
3n  liim 
line  or 
d  that 
great 

t  come 
imong 
t  the 
re   to 

5wept 
hthe 
r  the 
lit  to 
eady 
A.ca- 
full 
and 


made  a  ^tudy  of  the  tomb  of  the  late  Captain 
J^eatherstone,  depicted  on  the  opposite  wall  under 
a  nmch-weeping  willow,  where,  behind  a  handker- 
chief rather  bigger  than  tlie  tombstone,  drooped  a 
willowy  fignre  of  quite  different  proportions  from 
the  comfortable  Widow  Featherstone.  There  was 
notliing  left  for  Urquhart  to  do  but  to  wonder 
what  the  pretty  girl  was  doing  — what  she  could  do, 
would  do  —  on  tliis  rock  between  three  seas. 

Fortunately,  Mondays  will  come  in  due  course  • 
storms  will  go,  suns  will  burn  up  fogs,  -  or  so  at 
least,  declares  Mrs.  Featherstone. 

But  the  sails  of  the  Undine  are  drenched,  as  if 
her  spiteful  uncle  Kuhleborn  had  been  aboard; 
her  decks  are  over-wet ;  and  the  sea's  broad  bosom 
IS  still  heaving  in  troubled  remembrance  of  the 
storm :  so  that  there  is  nothing  to  tempt  a  fair- 
weather  sailor  outside  the  harbor.  Urquhart  may 
as  well  see  something  of  the  island,  -  and,  by  the 
way,  of  a  certain  islander. 

The  balm-of-Gilead  is  lifting  its  crown  of  quiv- 
ering gray-green  leaves  above  her  empty  seat  • 
even  the  close-woven,  springy  turf,  that  dries  so 
soon,  IS  too  wet  still  for  the  girl  to  be  sitting  out- 
ot-doors.  Instead,  she  has  been  stitching  away  at 
her  window  all  the  morning;  having  evidently  set 
herself  a  task  she  is  making  all  speed  to  get  to  the 
end  of.  ° 

Milicent,  as  she  sits  there,  is  like  the  day,  like 
the  sea,  at  which  now  and  then  she  glances  as  she 
works  on.  ^  In  truth,  the  child's  face  is  not  unlike 
the  sea  m  its  changes  :  every  cloud  reflected  there, 


26 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


as  well  as  every  sunbeam;   storm  and  calm;  and 
agam  days  when   it   is  turbid  and  dull-lookinjr 
and  outer  circumstances  and  surroundings  seem  to 
make  no  impression.     These  variations   of   mood 
and  expression  are  Milicent's  chief  charm.     The 
other  day  she  was  captious  and  perverse ;  to-day 
she  IS  sunshmy,  yet  withal,  like  the  sea,  a  little  sad. 
It  IS  not  until  some  time  after  the  primitive  din- 
ner-hour   that  she  has  finished   the   last  piece  of 
work  in  her  basket,  -  a  coarse  red  fisherman's-shirt 
that  needed  buttons,  -  and  takes  all,  a  great  pile 
her  arms  can  scarcely  carry,  down  to  Miss  Ursula. 
Ihen    she   comes   out-of-doors,  with   her   hat  on. 
bhe  stands  on  the  step  where  she  can  see  over  the 
village  below,  as  if  she  were  looking  for  some  one. 
But  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen,  except  a  woman 
turning  the  fish  on  the  flakes;  a  wavering  line  of 
cliildren  coming  from  school,  along   the  winding 
street ;  and  one  or  two  laggards  of  the  fishing-fleet 
going  out  e\en  now. 

After   lingering   a  while,  Milicent   crosses   the 
yard  to  the  gate.    Outside  of  it,  she  turns  her  back 
upon  the  3ea,  and  goes  up  a  somewhat  steep  road, 
which  stretches  before  her,  towards  the  middle  of 
the    island,  until   lost  in  the   belt  of  low  woods. 
Presently  she  comes  in  sight  of  a  low  white  cot- 
tage, the  porch  of  which  is  covered  in  with  clem- 
atis and  green  matrimony-vines.     There  are  two 
Norwegian  firs  before  the  porch,  their  dark  green 
branches   sweeping   the    ground.      Willow-bushes 
and   ilacs  are  planted  through  the  grass,  giving  the 
small  lawn  such  a  bowery  effect  that  one  scarcely 


'^  1 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


27 


remember?  the  absence  of  trees.  There  are  rustic 
seats  i3laced  where  the  view  of  the  sea  is  finest,  — 
a  more  distant  view  than  Milicent  has  from  her 
own  windows,  yet  near  enough  in  a  storm,  or  on  a 
calm,  still  night,  for  the  roll  of  the  waves  on  the 
rocks  to  ]  ^  loud. 

Milicent  opens  the  gate  in  the  white  picket  fence. 
There  could  not  have  been  a  greater  contrast 
than  the  pretty  cottage,  perfect  in  its  neatness,  and 
set  cosily  in  the  soft,  bowery  green,  and  the  great 
staring,  many-windowed,  unpainted  barn  which 
Milicent  calls  home.  No  doubt  the  difference  is 
very  plain  to  her ;  for  she  stands  at  the  gate  for 
some  time,  looking  at  the  cottage.  Yet  there  is 
no  discontent  in  her  face,  but  a  tender,  grateful 
look,  as  for  some  kindness  shown  her. 

Milicent  does  not  go  towards  the  cottage,  but  to 
a  seat  half  hidden  by  the  lilac-bush.  She  takes  off 
her  hat,  and  lays  it  down  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
letting  the  sea-wind  blow  her  hair  about  at  its  will' 
It  IS  evident  she  is  waiting  for  some  one,  and  is 
not  at  all  impatient. 

If  she  is  waiting,  she  is  not  watching ;  for  her 
back  is  turned  to  the  house,  and  before  her  is  a 
stretch  of  fields  which  runs  down  to  the  Green 
Head  cliffs,  a  way  it  is  not  likely  any  one  would 
come. 

Though  MiUicent  is  sitting  with  her  eyes  fixed 
dreamily  upon  the  sea,  and  her  back  to  the  cot- 
tag^,  she  sees  it  very  plainly.  When  she  was  a 
child,  and  first  came  to  live  on  the  island,  this  was 


as   URS12 


htly  as  her  own  home.     Ihe  boards  were 


28 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


impainted  and  weather-stained,  not  a  tree  would 
grow,  and  tlie  ronoli  salt  wind  in  the  winter  killed 
out  the  gross.  It  was  not  until  Stephen  had  come 
of  age,  and  had  taken  the  property  into  his  own 
hands,  that  the  metamorphosis  began.  It  took  un- 
told trouble,  as  well  as  a  long  time,  to  discover 
what  would  grow  in  such  a  sterile  and  exposed 
spot ;  for  even  the  grass  had  to  be  coaxed  into 
luxuriance,  as  if  it  were  an  exotic.  But  it  was  a 
labor  of  love  with  Stephen,  —  a  tender,  generous 
love,  which  would  fain  have  even  the  surroundings 
of  the  loved  one  beautiful,— and  this  is  his  success. 

Milicent  has  been  sitting  there  fully  half  an 
hour,  when  Stephen  returns  from  one  of  his  dis- 
tant fields.  His  quick  eye  detects  some  one  under 
the  great  lilac  before  he  is  near  enough  to  recog- 
nize who  it  is.  He  goes  forward  slowly,  as  if  not 
caring  to  welcome  a  visitor,  but  soon  quickens  his 
step.  The  grass  deadens  his  foot-fall,  so  that  he  is 
at  Milicent's  side  before  she  knows  he  is  comiu"-. 

"  See,  Stephen,  I  have  come  to  you  to  ask  you 
to  pardon  me.  I  was  horribly  cross  and  unreason- 
able on  Saturday  :  but  if  you  only  knew  " 

Milicent  does  not  finish  her  sentence :  indeed,  it 
is  a  bad  habit  of  hers  to  break  off  with  a  word  or 
two  lacking. 

But  Stephen  is  not  exacting ;  he  does  not  desire 
an  apology.  It  is  very  sweet  in  Milicent  to  come 
to  him ;  and  though  he  had  felt  hurt,  now  he  is 
heartily  ashamed  of  himself,  and  is  sure  he  should 
have  gone  over  as  he  usually  does  to  Miss  Ursula's 
every  morning.     Feeling  this,  no  wonder  Stephen 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


29 


kisses  the  hand  Milicent  has  stretched  out  to  him, 
as  a  loyal  subject  might  kiss  his  queen's  who  has 
just  ])ardoned  him. 

MiJicent  has  taken  up  her  hat,  making  room  for 
Stei)lien  on  the  bench ;  and  the  two  sit  there  side 
by  side,  not  caring  to  talk.  The  red  light  in  the 
west  is  reflected  in  the  clouds  in  the  east,  until  they 
are  rose-colored.  Even  the  water  has  caught  the 
tint,  and  the  sail  of  the  little  fishing-boat  flying  be- 
fore the  wind  is  2)ink. 

One  of  the  strongest  links  which  bind  Milicent 
to  Stephen  is  his  always  quick  perception  of  her 
moods.  As  she  seems  inclined  to  be  silent,  he 
does  not  care  to  talk,  but  is  content  to  have  her  by 
his  side ;  doubly  content  in  that  she  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  has  sought  him  herself. 

"  It  must  be  very  easy  for  you  to  be  so  good 
and  kind  as  you  are,  when  everything  is  beautiful 
around  you,"  Milicent  says  abruptly. 

"  It  is  not  always  as  beautiful  as  it  is  this  even- 
ing. In  our  cold,  bleak  winter,  you  know,  the 
cottage  does  not  look  much  better  than  the  udiest 
fishing-hut."  ^ 

But  Milicent  does  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

"  Perhaps  I  too  may  feel  the  influence  of  this 
peace  and  quiet,  in  time,"  she  goes  on.  "  When  I 
leave  Aunt  Ursula  and —  and  the  other  trials, 
and  come  here  to  live,  I  may  grow  quite  different 
from  myself  now." 

"  If  you  would  only  come  at  once !  You  know, 
Mdly,  It  is  my  great  longing  and  desire  to  bring 
you  here,"  says  Stephen,  eagerly. 


80 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


M  S   1 


"I  can't  just  now,  but  soon,  perhaps.  Ah, 
Stephen,  you  do  not  know  liow  I  long  to  call  this 
my  home." 

She  speaks  softly,  almost  tenderly.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  she  means  just  what  she  says. 

"It  won't  be  long  before  you  will  fix  a  time? 
If  1  can  look  forward  to  something  definite,  say 
next  winter,  or  even  the  spring,  Milly  " 

"I  can't  tell  you  this  evening.  I  know  it 
seems  hard  and  ungrateful  to  put  you  off;  but  in- 
deed I  can't  help  myself.  If  you  will  wait  until 
to-morrow  ;  or  next  month  will  be  better.  It  will 
be  just  as  soon  as  I  can,"  she  adds,  laying  her 
hand  on  his  arm.  For  she  has  left  off  looking  at 
the  sea :  instead,  her  eyes  are  on  his  face,  and  she 
sees  there  a  wistful,  questioning  glance,  as  if 
Stephen  were  not  altogether  satisfied. 

"  Tell  me  when  you  can,"  he  says,  gently.  "  I 
am  all  ready  for  you,  and  have  been  so  for  a  year 
and  more.  But,  Milly,  you  speak  of  trials  that  I 
do  not  know  of,  and  as  if  you  had  n't  everything 
in  your  own  guiding.'' 

"  You  forget  Aunt  Ursula.  Or  don't  you  con- 
sider her  a  trial  ?  You  are  not  a  girl,  and  can't 
tell  how  it  vexes  me  to  have  her  carping  at  every- 
thing I  say  or  do.  Certainly  I  consider  Aunt  Ur- 
sula one  of  my  trials." 

"Then  you  admit  that  you  have  others"  — 
Stej)hen  asserts,  gravely. 

"  Oh,  any  number  of  them,"  she  answers  almost 
gayly.  "  Is  it  not  a  trial  to  be  as  poor  as  we  are  ? 
Why,  I  have  u't  had  a  new  dress  for  a  whole  year 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


81 


now  !  Only  think  of  it,  Stephen,  not  a  single  dress 
for  a  year,  and  the  last  one  was  a  cotton  one  !  You  '11 
do  better  for  me  than  that,  when  you  marry  me  ? 
See,  I  shall  make  a  bargain.  You  must  give  me 
two  dresses  a  year,  unless  the  hay  is  bad  or  the 
fishing  fails.     Then  I  '11  be  content  with  one." 

She  is  looking  up  at  him  with  saucy,  laughing 
eyes;  all  the  soft,  tender  light  has  gone  out  of 
them. 

For  the  first  time,  Stephen  does  not  respond  to 
her  change  of  mood.  For  some  reason,  he  feels 
baffled  rather  than  amused,  and  not  at  all  inclined 
to  give  up  questioning  her  as  to  what  she  means  by 
her  trials. 

If  Milicent  does  not  care  to  answer,  she  must  be 
relieved  by  seeing  a  man  coming  slowly  up  the  road 
to  the  cottage.  She  points  him  out  to  Stephen, 
and  rises  to  go.  "  Some  one  on  business,  no  doubt. 
He  need  not  see  me  if  I  go  at  once.  I  am  sorry, 
for  I  hoped  you  would  walk  home  with  me.  But 
you  will  be  over  soon." 

She  leaves  him  abruptly,  before  he  has  quite  de- 
termined whether  he  will  not  elude  the  man,  and 
go  home  with  her.  But  he  has  made  the  appoint- 
ment himself ;  so  he  must  let  Milicent  go  without 
him,  though  he  longs  inexpressibly  to  talk  to  her. 

Milicent  does  not  return  by  the  road,  but  by  the 
fields  to  the  cliffs.  She  skirts  the  big  potato-field ; 
the  patch  of  wheat  covering  a  space  about  as  large 
as  a  good-sized  pocket  handkerchief  ;  another,  well- 
nigh  as  big,  of  barley ;  and  then  she  crosses  the 
crumpled  swell  of  the  ridge  against  the  sky,  to 


82 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


! 


i 


' 


Jill 


where  Green  Cove  offers  its  tiny  square-cut  shingle 
beach,  a  doubtful  shelter  for  a  hard-pressed  boat. 
Beyond  the  hill,  upon  the  farther  side,  stands  Mil- 
icent's  old  gray  unhonie-like  home.  But  the  girl 
chooses  rather  to  reach  it  by  the  roundabout  way 
of  the  sea.  So  she  clambers  down  as  fast  as  she 
can,  not  stopping  to  take  breath  until  she  stands  on 
the  lower  level  of  rocks,  a  Giant's  Causeway  which 
the  tide,  halfway  out  now,  has  left  bare. 

Once  on  the  rocks,  Milicent  walks  more  slowly. 
She  is  in  no  haste  to  reach  home.  She  can  think 
of  Stephen,  and  of  the  future,  w^here  she  has  no 
doubt  much  hai)pineas  awaits  her.  It  would  be 
heaven,  that  future  at  the  cottage,  compared  to  her 
present.  The  poor  child  has  not  yet  learned  that 
at  least  one  half  of  the  misery  in  our  lives  is  but 
the  crop  of  our  own  sowing. 

As  she  goes  on,  still  towards  the  harbor  and  the 
jutting  point  where  it  begins,  she  turns  a  rocky 
parapet,  and  sees,  upon  a  ledge  almost  at  her  feet, 
a  man  in  a  red  flannel  shirt,  such  as  she  was  mend- 
ing this  morning.  His  slouched  hat  with  its  broad 
brim  shades  his  face  effectually.  A  basket  of  fish 
and  his  fishing-tackle  are  on  the  rocks  by  his  side, 
the  former  showing  he  has  had  good  luck  to-day. 

The  fisherman's  back  is  turned  to  Milicent,  who 
no  sooner  recognizes  him  than  she  walks  softly,  as 
if  anxious  to  pass  him  without  his  seeing  her,  — 
a  feat  not  difficult  for  her  to  have  accomplished 
if  fate  had  not  been  against  her,  making  him 
chance  to  look  round  just  as  she  comes  where  he  is 
seated. 


iti 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


88 


His  face  is  bronzed  by  exposure,  the  lower  part 
entirely  covered  with  a  heavy  black  beard.  His 
eyes  are  of  that  peculiar  shade  of  gray  which  can 
look  cold  as  steel,  or  can  flash  black  with  passion. 
Certainly  his  eyes  are  the  most  noticeable  feature 
in  the  face  he  turns  on  her. 

"Whore  have  you  been?  "  he  asks  abruptly,  as 
Milicent,  finding  she  cannot  avoid  speaking  to  him, 
walks  quietly  on. 

"  To  the  cottage." 

"  To  the  cottage !  "  he  repeats,  mimicking  her 
tone.  "  One  would  suppose  you  were  some  fisher- 
girl  looking  after  her  man  that  is  to  be.  Girls  in 
your  position  receive  visits  instead  of  making  them. 
They  like  to  be  sought  "  — 

"  Girls  in  my  position  are  seldom  sought,"  re- 
plies Milicent,  stopping  and  facing  him.  ''  Any 
man  of  common  sense  would  rather  marry  the 
roughest  girl  in  the  village  than  such  as  I  am." 

"  And  I  for  one  would  not  blame  him  for  his 
taste,"  is  the  cool  answer.  "  I  never  saw  a  more 
devilish  temper  than  yours.  One  cannot  even  give 
you  a  caution  without  putting  you  into  a  passion. 
If  you  wish  Stephen  to  hold  you  cheap,  go  call  on 
him,  by  all  means." 

"  He  '11  hold  me  cheap  enough  some  day,"  she 
answers  bitterly. 

^  "  And  if  you  go  courting  him  and  paying  him 
visits,  he  '11  bring  it  up  to  you.  Men  are  not  gen- 
erous," he  goes  on,  not  heeding  her  last  remark. 

"Seme  men  seem  to  have  all  that  other  men 
lack  "  — 

8 


*  ^"-^r^te^JSMK-w^-a 


I  PI 


84 


PILOT  fouti'm:. 


11' 


"  Of  course  Sto])lien  is  ono  wlio  lias  much  more 
than  his  share.  J^ut  takt;  earo  not  to  tax  him  too 
heavily.  After  all,  Stei)hen  is  a  man  ;  and  when 
he  finds  you  nuirry  him  only  to  get  your  own  head 
above  water  "  — 

*'  You  know  that  is  false "  —  interrupts  Mili- 
cent,  her  eyes  Hashing. 

"  False  !  Have  a  eare  how  you  select  your  words. 
However  I  may  ehoose  not  to  interfere  with  your 
plans,  you  will  seareely  deny  my  right  to  do  so,  I 
suppose." 

Milieent  makes  no  reply.  An  intolerable  blush 
overspreads  her  face.  "  Tell  Miss  Ursula  I  will 
bring  some  fish  for  supper,"  Thomas  says,  all  at 
once  assuming  the  monotonous  drawl  of  the  fisher- 
man. 

It  is  meant  for  the  benefit  of  Urquhart,  who  has 
come  upon  them  suddenly. 

Urquhart  had  seen  Milieent  standing  there ;  but, 
like  her,  he  had  not  seen  the  fisherman  until  he  had 
come  down  the  rocks. 

The  blush  has  not  died  out  of  Milicent's  face,  nor 
the  angry  ring  from  her  voice,  when  she  must  an- 
swer Mr.  Urquhart's  good-evening.  Thomas  takes 
not  the  smallest  notice  of  him. 

But  Urquhart  cares  very  little  for  the  good-will 
of  Thomas,  though  he  evidently  intends  to  join 
Milieent,  who  seems  uncertain  whether  to  let  him 
or  not.  She  glances  down  in  a  puzzled  way  at 
Thomas ;  but  he  is  busy  in  gathering  up  his  fishing- 
lines,  and  does  not  look  at  her.  So  she  walks  on 
with  Urquhart. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


85 


Slio  (loos  not  know  that  wIkmi  both  backs  are 
tnrnod  the  fislieiinan  has  lifted  his  head,  and  is 
following  her  with  his  eyes.  There  is  a  strange 
look  in  them,  —  a  dark  look  of  j)ain,  of  anger. 

But  the  first  is  the  stronger  :  the  flash  dies  out 
of  them ;  there  deepens  a  yearning  in  them,  as  ho 
stands  watching  the  light  figure  flitting  from  rock 
to  rock.  Her  hat  sways  at  her  side  ;  the  sunset  is 
in  her  burnislied  hair. 

The  fisherman  turns  sharply  away  as  if  there 
were  something  in  the  pretty  picture  just  then  de- 
fined against  the  sky  which  he  cannot  bear. 

It  strikes  Urquhart  in  a  different  light;  but 
Milicent  does  not  give  him  much  time  to  observe 
it,  for  she  has  sprung  down  from  the  rock  before 

he  can  offer  his  aid.     So  he  can  only  ask  her, 

"Have  you  been  walking  far?"  by  way  of 
opening  the  conversation. 

"  Not  very,"  she  answers  curtly. 
"Are  you  fond  of  the  exercise?"  he  goes  on 
questioning. 

"  I  have  never  tried  any  other." 
"  Certainly  you  have  tried  driving." 
"  I  certainly  never  have.  You  have  not  made 
good  use  of  your  time  on  the  island  if  you  have  not 
discovered  that  there  are  no  carriages  on  it,  unless 
you  except  the  one  at  the  light-house  across  on 
the  Fundy  side.  I  might  go  in  an  ox-cart,  as  the 
fishermen's  children  do  sometimes." 

"But  you  might  try  riding,"  persists  Urquhart. 
'^  We  have  no  horses,  except  that  at  the  afore- 
said light-house.     But  I  am  wrong  to  say  I  know 


I ; 


u 


36 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


no  other  exercise,  "  she  adds,  "  for  I  can  pull  an 
oar  as  well  as  any  one." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  n't  my  horses  here.  I  am 
sure  there  could  be  nothing  finer  to  drive  on  than 
a  sandy  beach ;  and  1  know  you  would  like  it." 

"  There  is  not  a  yard  of  sand-beach  on  the  island ; 
and  I  am  glad  they  are  not  here.  There  is  no  use 
in  learning  to  enjoy  pleasures  one  will  never  per- 
haps have  again  in  one's  life,"  philosophizes  the 
girl.  "  Besides,"  she  adds,  "  if  the  horses  were 
here,  perhaps  I  would  not  drive  with  you." 

"  Why  not  ? "  asks  Urquhart,  anuised  by  her 
heat. 

"  Because  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  it  is  custom- 
ary in  your  world  "  — 

"  But  it  is,  I  assure  you.  I  would  ask  any  lady 
of  my  acquaintance  to  drive  with  me.  Perhaps, 
however,  your  customs  here  are  different  ?  " 

He  does  not  know  that  she  has  just  been  re- 
buked for  a  lack  of  coyness,  and  that  she  is  de- 
termined not  to  offend  where  a  stranger  is  con- 
cerned. Perhaps,  if  he  had  known,  he  would  not 
have  stooped  for  that  tuft  of  bluebells  waving 
from  a  crevice  of  the  rocks,  —  which  she  does  not 
refuse,  but  draws  indifferently  through  her  hands, 
while  she  goes  on  sjoeaking. 

"  We  have  no  customs  at  all,"  she  answers  him. 
"  It  is  only  when  a  stranger  comes  that  we  bother 
ourselves  about  such  trifles." 

"  Don't  bother  yourself  about  them  on  my  ac- 
count," iays  Urquhart,  laughing.  "I'll  promise 
not  to  presume  on  your  sensible,  primitive  ways." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


87 


her 


"  That  is  wise.  You  know  there  are  no  people 
so  easily  aggrieved  as  those  who  are  not  quite  sure 
of  their  rights."  And  then  she  adds,  with  the 
evident  intention  of  turning  the  conversation, 
"  Stephen  tells  me  you  have  taken  lodgings  in  the 
village." 

"Stephen?" 
"Yes,  Mr.  Ferguson." 

"  Is  it  one  of  your  customs  to  call  people  by 
their  Christian  names  ?  " 

"If  we  have  known  each  other  since  we  were 
children,  and  have  been  constant  companions." 

"You  make  me  wish  I  had  always  lived  here," 
begins  Urquhart ;  bul;  catching  a  glimpse  of  an 
angry  flush  on  her  face,  he  hastens  to  add,  "  Your 
friend  has  been  very  kind,  and  has  procured  me  far 
more  comfortable  lodgings  than  I  thought  I  could 
possibly  get  here." 

"Where  are  you  lodging  ?  "  asks  Milicent,  with 
sudden  interest,  as  knowing  every  one  in  the  vil- 
lage. 

"  Let  me  see  if  you  can  tell  me.  A  trim  little 
body,  rather  fat,  very  fair  —  in  complexion  I  mean 
—  and  rosy,  and  emphatically  jolly,  unless  her  face 
belies  her." 

"  Which  it  does  not.  Altogether  a  taut-looking 
craft,  as  Mrs.  Featherstone  herself  would  say." 

"  I  observed  she  was  nautical  in  her  mode  of  ex- 
pressing herself.     Is  it "  — 

"The  island  dialect,"  he  was  about  to  say,  but 
fortunately  stops,  while  Milicent  goes  on  with  a 
laugh :  — 


I  L 


38 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I     i 


"  Oh,  yes  :     Perliaps  she  never  signed  articles, 
but  for  all  that  she  is  as  good  a  sailor  as  ever 
passed   a   weather   earing.      She    has   even   been 
wrecked,  and  carried  off  chief  honors  in  the  news- 
paper account  of  the  disaster.     Captain  Feather- 
stone  has  been  dead  only  a  year  or  two,  and  she 
thought  nothing  of  shipping  two  or  three  children 
and  gouig  off  with  him  to  the  States  or  to  the 
W  est  Indies,  to  England  or  South  America,  —  in 
whatever  trade   he  happened   to  be   at  the  time. 
Captam  Richard,  she  will  tell  you,  though  he  'd  a 
fine  figure-head  of  his  own,  was  n't  altogether  to  be 
trusted  for  straight  sailing ;  and  she  liked  to  take 
Jfler  trick  at  the  helm.     But  since  sJie  will  hav    no 
particular  desire  t6  steer  you,  you  are  lucky  to  fall 
into  her  hands,  if  she  takes  a  kindness  to  you." 

"  I  believe  I  may  flatter  myself  that  she  has," 
says  IJrquhart,  smiling,  "  since  she  assures  mc  she 
does  n't  care  the  drawing  of  a  rope-yarn  how  long 
I  stay  on  the  island,  as  I  'm  not  a  whitewashed 
Yankee.     I  wonder  how  she  knows  ?  " 

"Oh,"  apologizes  Milicent,  "she  means  one  of 
those  American  traders  who  sail  in  here  with  a 
cargo  of  goods,  and  open  shop  for  the  th-ee  sum- 
mer months,  with  their  counters  full  of  what  they 
call  '  lawns  '  and  '  mosquito-nets,'  —things  that  we 
don't  know  the  use  of  !  But  they  rather  interfere 
with  Mrs.  Featherstone's  own  shop.  They  are 
about  the  only  summer  visitors  the  island  has." 

"  So  that  explains  why  I  find  the  neighboro  a  lit- 
tle suspicious  of  me.  It  is  difficult  to  make  them 
believe  I  am  sfavino"  for  tli'^  ^lo-ai ^  ^-i  •_     »» 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


89 


>> 


"  But  are  you  ?  "  asks  Milicent,  turning  round, 
and  looking  at  him  with  evident  curiosity. 

"  Certainly.    What  else  can  possibly  keep  me  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say ;  only  I  think,  with  the  fishermen, 
you  might  be  better  employed." 

"  But  unfortunately  I  am  among  the  drones  in 
the  world's  busy  hive,  so  have  no  employment  but 
that  most  tiresome  one,  the  search  for  amusement." 

"  Don't  your  friends  object  to  such  employment 
on  your  part  ?  " 

Urquhart's  attention  is  rather  more  given  to  the 
wondering  brown  eyes  that  question,  than  to  the 
question  itself. 

"  I  don't  see  what  business  it  is  of  theirs,"  he 
says,  half  absently. 

"  I  should  think  they  might  reasonably  object,  if 
they  have  to  take  care  of  you." 

"  Take  care  of  me !  Well,  thank  Heaven  !  I 
have  not  got  so  low  in  the  scale  of  humanity,"  says 
Urquhart,  with  very  evident  satisfaction. 

"I  thought  you  called  yourself  a  drone,  and 
I  'm  sure  the  drones  live  on  the  honey  made  by  the 
other  bees,"  is  Milicent's  conclusive  argument. 

"  Then  I  am  not  literally  a  drone,  for  I  assure 
you  I  buy  my  own  honey,"  replies  Urquhart,  laugh- 


mg. 


This  bit  of  information  seems  of  very  little  in- 
terest to  Milicent,  for  she  begins  to  talk  of  some- 
thing less  personal.  At  the  gate,  she  bids  him 
good-evening;  and  Urquhart,  remembering  Miss 
Ursula's  reception  on  Saturday,  supposes  Mili- 
cent will  not  care  to  risk  another  of  the  same  sort 


40 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


M 


m 


'    '!  i 


for  him.  Milicent  lias  frankly  said  they  are  tena- 
cious of  their  rights  in  all  mooted  points  of  eti- 
quette ;  so  the  safest  way  would  be  to  ask  Stephen 
to  introduce  him.  If  he  were  once  received  nt  the 
house,  he  could  depend  upon  himself  for  all  further 
steps  toward  an  intimacy. 

Milicent  disappears  round  the  side  of  the  house, 
ignoring'  the  front  door,  and  going  by  the  kitchen. 
There  she  finds  Miss  Ursula  preparing  a  kind  of 
nondescript  tea. 

She  looks  red  and  warm  from  the  heat  of  the 
stove  ;  but  Milicent  knows  better  than  to  offer  to 
help  her. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  find  it  fatiguing  to 
walk  so  much.  Such  a  fine  lady  as  you  should  set 
up  her  carriage,"  Miss  Ursula  says  sharply,  when 
Milicent  appears  at  the  door. 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  some  day,"  answers  the  girl, 
lightly. 

"  Pray,  will  it  be  soon  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell ;  but  the  future  is  so  uncertain, 
one  can't  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  luck 
ahead." 

"  Bad  luck,  then.  The  future  will  be  no  kinder 
than  the  past,  unless  you  do  something  yourself  to 
mend  it.  That  is  the  way  with  young  people. 
They  sit  still,  their  hands  in  their  laps,  expecting 
the  good  things  of  life  to  fall  into  them.  Where 
one  is  fortunate  enough  to  catch  anything,  a  dozen 


miss. 


5? 


"  Did  you  ever  catch  anything  that  was  pleasant, 
Aunt  Ursula  ?  "  the  girl  asks,  wistfully. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


41 


"  If  I  did,  I  have  shaken  my  skirts  free  of  them. 
What  is  the  matter  with  Stephen,  that  he  has  not 
been  near  the  house  for  two  days  ?  " 

'•'  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  him.  Only 
I  have  been  to  see  him  instead." 

"And  picked  up  another  man  on  your  way  home. 
I  suppose  you  think  it  a  fine  thing  to  be  noticed  by 
a  stranger  no  one  knows  anything  about." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  care  whether  he  notices  me 
or  not.  The  road  is  open  to  more  than  me,  and  I 
can't  help  who  walks  over  it.  We  are  to  have  fish 
for  tea,"  Milicent  adds,  as  she  turns  to  leave  the 
kitchen. 

"Are  we?"  asks  Miss  Ursula,  ironically.  "I 
should  like  to  know  what  else  there  is  to  eat  in 
this  God-forsaken  place." 

"The  place  is  good  enough.  There  wasn't  a 
blot  upon  the  earth  until  man  was  made,  and  even 
he  can't  spoil  the  sea.  But  it  was  n't  the  herrings 
I  meant.  I  knew  they  were  for  tea  when  I 
reached  the  gate." 

"  So  j^ou  were  ashamed  of  the  herrings,"  says 
Miss  Ursula,  as  if  she  rather  enjoys  any  feeling 
of  annoyance  Milicent  might  have  at  the  fumes  of 
the  fish. 

"  If  you  mean  that  was  the  reason  I  did  n't  ask 
Mr.  Urquhart  to  the  house,  you  are  mistaken. 
There  are  other  things  I  am  much  more  ashamed 
of,  than  the  herrings.  Aunt  Ursula,"  cries  Mil- 
icent, passionately,  "  I  won't  be  stopped  and  found 
fault  with,  as  I  have  been  this  afternoon.  And 
I'll  not  marry  Stephen  unless  I  tell  him  every- 


42 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


thing  about  myself.  I  know  you  want  me  to  marry 
him ;  but  I  '11  not  do  it  with  an  untruth  upon  my 
conscience." 

She  does  not  give  Miss  Ursula  time  to  answer 
her,  but  goes  swiftly  up-stairs  to  her  own  room ;  so 
she  has  not  the  mortification  of  seeing  that  this 
outbreak  of  hers  has  not  discomp*  .r  ;  iss  Ursula 
in  the  least. 

"She  is  her  mother's  own  child  in  more  than 
appearance,"  Miss  Ursula  thinks,  as  she  returns 
to  her  labors,  for  an  instant  suspended.  "  She  is 
proud  and  passionate,  and  such  girls  never  make 
smooth  paths  for  themselves  through  life.  A  little 
stumbling  may  be  good  for  her,  and  make  her 
more  humble  and  gentle.  Stephen  will  be  better 
without  her  than  with  her  ;  yet  I  '11  do  nothing  to 
help  nor  to  hinder  him." 

This  compromise  seems  to  satisfy  Miss  Ursula. 
Milicent  should  manage  her  own  affairs,  —  she 
would  wash  her  hands  of  them.  Alas  for  Miss 
Ursula !  She  had  formed  plans  of  her  own  in  life, 
and  had  longed  for  them  as  eagerly  as  Milicent  is 
longing,  and  with  far  greater  chances  of  success  : 
and  they  had  all  failed.  That  spare,  gaunt  figure 
in  black,  bending  over  the  fire,  half  stifled  with  the 
fumes  of  the  herring,  is  a  far  more  eloquent  ser- 
mon on  the  vanity  of  human  hopes  and  desires 
than  any  ever  preached  by  a  golden-mouthed  Saint 
Chrysostom. 

Yet  it  is  being  preached  in  vain  to  Milicent,  who 
is  impatiently  trying  to  get  rid  of  evils  which  Miss 
Ursula  has  learned  to  bear  without  a  murmur. 


III. 

"  'T  is  a  haunted  place, 
And  spell-beset." 

m 

"  Who  is  the  fisherman  with  such  a  splendid 
growth  of  beard?"  Urquhart  asks  Stephen,  the 
next  morning,  in  the  village. 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Thomas.  He  certainly 
has  an  uncommonly  handsome  one." 

"  This  Thomas  seems  to  be  an  insolent  fellow  " — 
begins  Urquhart. 

"  He  is  a  dangerous  one,  so  you  had  better  not 
call  him  insolent  to  his  face.  Those  cold  eyes  of 
his  can  show  the  devil  in  them  if  he  is  roused ; 
though  usually  he  is  good-natured  enough." 

"  I  never  was  much  afraid  of  the  devil,"  Ur- 
quhart says,  quietly.  "  It  was  your  pretty  little 
friend.  Miss  Milicent,  I  was  anxious  about.  I  saw 
her  on  the  rocks  to-day,  talking  to  this  Thomas, 
and  I  am  very  sure  he  was  impertinent,  for  she 
stamped  her  little  foot  as  if  in  a  rage.  I  thought 
the  best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  hasten  to  her  res- 
cue. But  when  I  got  up  to  them,  I  found  he  was 
only  telling  her  about  some  fish  I  think  he  wanted 
her  aunt  to  take ;  and  the  young  lady  walked  home 
with  me  as  if  she  had  not  been  scolding  this  same 
Thomas," 

"  Well,  the  whole  of  that  story  is  easily  ex- 


'iy 


44 


PILOT  FORT  UN K. 


plained,"  says  Stei)lieii,  laughing.     "  Thomas  lives 
at  Miss  Ursula's,  and  is  her  fislierman." 

"Iler  fisherman?     Wliat  an  odd  servitude." 

"  It  is  a  very  necessary  service,  where  fish  is  so 
important  an  item  in  housekeeping  as  it  is  here." 

"  Yet  I  should  think  Miss  Ursula  might  buy  all 
the  fish  her  household  needs  from  the  fishermen  in 
the  village,  and  not  take  into  her  family  so  danger- 
ous a  man  as  you  represent  this  Thomas  to  be." 

"  But  the  fishermen  will  not  always  sell ;  and 
besides,  money  is  not  so  very  abundant  with  us. 
It  is  surely  convenient,  as  there  is  no  man  in  the 
family,  to  keep  a  fisherman,  who  for  his  board  and 
lodging  catches  fish  for  them.  I  suppose  every 
community  has  its  peculiar  customs  or  ways  of 
management.  Certainly  this  has  been  Miss  Ur- 
sula's for  a  very  long  time,"  Stephen  adds,  a  little 
coldly,  as  one  is  apt  to  do  when  what  one  has  al- 
ways been  accustomed  to  is  criticised  by  a  stranger. 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  Miss  Milicent  is  a  little  ter- 
magant, if  she  can  fly  into  such  a  rage  with  her 
aunt's  fisherman.  I  don't  mean  anything  derog- 
atory by  the  word,"  Urquhart  hastens  to  explain, 
as  he  sees  Stephen  begin  to  look  grave.  "  There 
could  be  nothing  handsomer  than  her  eyes,  when 
the  devil  peeped  out  of  them.  I  admire  a  woman 
under  a  flash  of  temper ;  for  the  truth  is,  I  have 
seen  more  of  their  smiles  than  of  their  frowns,  and 
a  perpetual  smile  is  apt  to  be  a  little  insipid." 

The  perfect  egotism  of  this  speech  does  not  seem 
to  strike  Stephen.  No  doubt  he  is  thinking  of 
Milicent  rather  than  of  what  Urquhart  is  saying, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


45 


for  he  returns,  "  She  can  be  very  meek  and  gen- 
tle, if  she  is  a  little  fiery  on  occasion." 

"Can  she?"  asks  Urquhart,  laughing.  "The 
change  must  be  delicious,  though  I  confess  it  is 
past  my  belief.  By  the  way,  I  want  you  to  take 
me  to  the  house.  I  have  met  the  young  lady  twice 
now,  and  it  is  but  civil  in  me  to  call  on  her." 

"  I  don't  know,"—  begins  Stephen,  with  evident 
hesitation. 

"  Of  course  you  must  ask  her  permission  ;  if  she 
refuses,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  acquiesce.  But  if  you 
choose  to  manage  it  for  me,  I  am  sure  she  will  let 
me  call." 

But  the  better  acquaintance  Urquhart  desires 
comes  about  easily  and  naturally  this  same  morn- 
ing ;  though  he  could  not  have  expected  it,  in  turn- 
ing off  from  Stephen  to  find  his  way  to  Green- 
head  cliffs. 

It  is  not  hard  to  find,  as  Stephen  has  directed 
him.  The  springy  turf  makes  the  curvings  of  the 
upland  seem  short  enough ;  and  Urquhart  is  soon 
clambering  down  from  the  green  headland,  by  what 
is  most  like  a  flight  of  huge  stone  stairs  flung  out 
of  place  by  some  upheaval  of  nature. 

At  the  bottom  of  this  flight,  one  stands  fronting 
the  first  of  the  five  strange  little  beaches,  with  the 
cliffs  towering  up  a  hundred  feet  above  them. 
These  cliffs  are  every  one  a  massy  pinnacled 
tower,  jutting  out  to  meet  the  sea-lashed  ledges, 
and  every  two  with  a  tiny  cove  between,  —  a  court 
paved  with  oval  gray  stones  as  bier  as  a  man's 
hand,  yet  smooth  and  flat  as  wave-washed  pebbles. 


46 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


The  high  tide  covers  them,  and  lashes  against  these 
inaccessible  fortress  towers  of  the  island,  submerg- 
ing the  stairs  that  ^  A  away  from  them.  But  as 
yet,  one  may  pass  round  their  foot  from  court  to 
court ;  and  even,  in  one  place,  behind  the  but- 
tresses, which  leave  a  passage-way  from  chamber 
into  chamber. 

Urquhart  has  paused  upon  a  ledge  which  juts 
out,  facing  them,  a  barrier  between  them  and  the 
sea.  The  barnacled  rocks  show  the  reach  of  every 
tide.  The  same  white  fret-work  is  on  the  base  of 
the  columns,  and  covers  one  broken,  jagged  shaft ; 
which  was  once  perhaps  the  portal  of  the  widest 
chamber  of  the  five.  They  are  all  unroofed  now  ; 
the  splintered  summits  tipped  with  a  fir  or  a  wild 
rose,  a  scant  handful  of  grass,  or  some  close-cling- 
ing, crimson-leafed  weed  that  reappears  like  a  vine 
here  and  there  along  the  joints  of  the  masonry. 

The  tide  is  still  withdrawing  reluctantly,  and 
with  now  and  then  a  backward  rush  of  some  loiter- 
ing wave.  So  Urquhart  knows  that  he  has  time 
to  loiter,  too,  and  he  stands  looking  up  at  the 
massive  pile  and  listening  to  the  gurgle. 

But  is  that  the  gurgle  of  the  waves?  True, 
they  might  very  well  be  chanting,  in  that  long- 
drawn  rhythm,  — 

*'  We  are  passing  away, 
Like  a  long  summer  day." 

But  when   it  breaks   off  suddenly   into   a  lively 
Scotch  reel,  — 

"  Sailing  awa'  to  Germany, 
Laddie,  laddie, 


PILOT  FORTUNE,  47 

What  is  it  ye '!!  bring  back  to  me, 

Boiiiiy,  bonny  luddie  V 
I  'I!  l)rinf,'  bncl<  a  broom  to  ye, 

Bonny  lassie,  boi>ny  lassie,"  — 

Urquhart  is  seized  with  a  sudden  desire  to  ex- 
plore these  cliffs.  Is  it  possible  that  there  may  be 
a  cave  among  them,  with  some  canny  housewife 
of  a  Nova  Scotian  mermaid  ? 

He  says  as  much  to  Milicent,  when  he  comes 
upon  her,  seated  on  the  shelving  shingle,  in  the  in- 
most  curve  of  one  of  the  beaches,  just  out  of  sight 
from  where  he  was  standing  on  the  ledge.  She  has 
a  little  heap,  not  of  white  sea-foam,  round  her,  but 
of  coarse  white  towels  held  together  by  their  fringed 
borders ;  and  with  her  red  and  white  Indian  bas- 
ket by  her  side,  she  is  busily  hemming  and  hum- 
ming away.  The  near  grating  of  the  shingle  under 
Urquhart's  tread  makes  her  look  up  with  startled 
eyes  across  that  pile  of  white. 

Then  Urquhart  makes  his  little  speech  anent  the 
housewifely  mermaid. 

"If  it  were  in  auld  Scotland,  now,"  he  says,  "it 
would  be  quite  in  rule  to  look  for  one.  But  in  this 
New  Scotland  of  yours  " 

She  lets  her  hand  fall,  with  the  needle  in  it. 

"  You  do  not  know,  then,  that  we  too  have  them  ? 
—  that  the  Indians  believe  in  mermaids?  At  least 
our  Micmacs  do.  There  used  to  be  an  old  Indian 
on  the  other  side  of  the  island,  a  very  old  Indian, 
Piel  Jack  by  name,  who  I  suppose  was  baptized 
Pierre,  as  the  Micmacs  don't  pronounce  the  letter 
r.  The  cove  where  he  lived  and  died  is  named 
for  him,  though  you  will  hear  people  call  it  Fea 


48 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Jack.  Ho  used  to  tell  Stephen  and  me  about  tho 
mernuiid  he  saw,  and  tlie  niin;unioowesoo  that  liauut 
the  woods  and  shores,  and  sin«!^  a  man's  heart  out 
of  his  breast  with  their  sweet  voices." 

"I  can  well  believe  it." 

The  girl  is  glancing  up  quite  earnestly  at  tho 
young  man,  who  leans  on  a  ledge  of  the  dark  but- 
tress before  her,  looking  down  at  the  wonderfully 
pretty,  8])eaking  face,  and  the  idle  little  hands 
clasped  over  her  forgotten  work.  Perhaps  it  is 
some  prick  of  the  needle  lying  there  which  pres- 
ently pricks  her  conscience ;  for  she  starts  up, 
gathering  the  crumided  white  folds  together. 

"  Ah,  how  lazy  I  am !  Aunt  Ursula  is  not  so 
far  wrong  when  she  says  one  hour  at  work  with 
one's  back  to  the  sunshine  accomplishes  more  than 
a  whole  out-of-doors  morning.  But  then,  could 
one  turn  one's  back  on  such  sunshine  as  this  ?  The 
Fundy  does  not  >;ive  it  to  us  every  day.  And 
when  the  fos;  rolls  in  —  not  one  of  our  warm 
fogs,  with  the  sun  making  a  pretense  of  being  a 
moon,  and  peering  down  at  us  out  of  a  drifting 
veil  —  but  a  gi'ay,  close,  damp,  dismal  blotting-out 
of  the  whole  world  "  — 

"  That  is  the  sort  of  day  to  gather  round  the 
fireside,"  says  Urquhart.  "  You  with  your  work- 
basket  "  —  picking  it  up  from  the  shingle  for  her 
as  he  speaks  —  "ensconced  at  one  angle  of  the 
blazing  hearth  ;  and  at  the  other  "  — 

He  sees  her  give  a  shiver,  as  she  averts  her  eyes. 
Then  she  turns  to  him,  saying  lightly,  — 

"  All  very  pretty,  if,  instead  of  a  blazing  hearth, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


49 


we  (lid  not,  as  the  Irishman  says,  in  this  country 
keep  our  Hn.'  in  a  big  iron  pot.  But  listen  !  there 
iH  soniethin^  which  the  Fundy  gives  us,  besides 
fog.  The  tide  is  coming  uj) ;  and  tliough  1  might 
*  suffer  a  sea-change  '  into  a  mermaid,  yet  you  "  — 

"  '  I  would  be  mormaii  bold  ; 

I  would  sit  and  .siiif;  tho  whole  of  the  day, 
I  would  lill  flic  sea-halls  with  a  voice  of  power: 
But  at  iii^'lit  I  would  roam  abroad  and  play 
With  the  nifrmaids  in  and  out  of  the  rocks, 
Dressing  their  hair  with  the  white  sea-dower,'  " 

quotes  Urquhart,  a  little  afraid  of  his  own  audacity 
as  Lo  remembers  the  lines  following,  of  how, 

—  "holding  them  back  by  their  flowing  locks, 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kissed  me:  " 

but  reassured  when  he  meets  Milicent's  unconscious 
eyes. 

*'  Who  wrote  that,  Mr.  Urquhart  ?     I  don't  like 
it  in  the  least.     It  would  n't  do  at  all.     It  is  all 
very  well  for   mermaids   to  be   sitting   on   rocks 
combing  their  sea-green  locks ;  but  a  merman  -1 
what  coidd  he  do  ?  "  * 

"  Might  n't  it  be  rather  lonely  for  the  mer- 
maid?" suggests  Urquhart,  carefully  abstaining 
from  quotation  to  this  girl,  who  apparently  knows 
more  of  Shakespeare  than  of  Tennyson. 

She  shakes  her  head ;  her  pretty,  smiling  lips 

are  moving,  but  what  they  say  is  drowned  in  the 

heavy  thud  of  an  advancing  wave  on  the  low-lving 

wall  of  rocks,  —  the  outpost,  as  it  were,  of   this 

stronghold.      It  is  quite  time  to  beat  a  retreat; 

o — 07  ''-"^i  5«i,iicnii^   iier  neecuework  in 
4 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 

her  ai'm,  one  end  blown  out  over  her  shoulder  like 
a  white  flag  of  distress,  while  a  flying  scud  dashes 
in  her  face,  the  girl  suffers  Urquhart  to  help  her 
up  the  rocks  to  a  higher  ledge.  There  they  stand 
in  safety,  watching  the  great  waves  flinging  them- 
selves about  the  broken  pinnacles,  in  a  very  snow- 
storm of  spray,  tossed  wildly  here,  there,  every- 
where, on  every  airt  at  once. 


IV. 

*'  Like  a  cloud  upon  the  sea, 

That  darkens  till  you  find  no  shore, 
So  was  the  face  of  life  to  me." 

The  breeze  has  begun  to  freshen,  and  to  brush 
out  the  soft  bright  rings  of  hair  about  her  tern- 
pies ;  but  Milicent  is  far  too  absorbed  to  notice  it. 
Leaning  idly,  with  hands  folded  on  the  gate,  as  she 
appears,  she  is  in  reality  hard  at  work.  She  is 
trying  the  nice  task  of  balancing ;  and  the  scale 
that  holds  her  own  desires  will  weigh  down  heav- 
ily,  for  all  her  striving  to  pile  up  the  contrary  one. 

As  she  stands  there,  her  back  turned  on  the  old 
gray  house,  the  harbor  lies  spread  out  in  a  silver, 
blue  cross  under  MUicent's  eyes.  From  just  this 
point,  the  hght-house  island  in  the  harbor  seems 

iV'r  *^  *''"  "PP*"'**"  ^"S  Mand  shore. 
With  Westport  curving  round  one  arm  of  the  cross 
and  round  the  other  the  white  cove  of  Freeport  on 
Long  Island  If  she  had  moved  a  little  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left,  MUicent  would  have  lost  the 
impression.  But  as  it  is,  that  cross  lies  before 
her :  and  somehow  watchmg  it  vaguely  seems  to 
steady  her  m  the  task  which  she  has  set  herself. 

Ihere  ,s  a  little  pucker  of  thought  on  her  usually 
smooth  brow,  and  she  is  too  absorbed  to  see  that 
i-nomas  is  coming  towards  h^r    l>;-   «.h:.,„_-!- 


52 


rii.oT  FoiiTf'Ni':. 


HI 


m<M-  Ins  slu)ul,|(.r,  :in<l  Mio  iurvilahh"  l.:islv(.f,  of  (IhU 
in  hiH  hniul.  II,.  in  ivluniin^.  (o  leu,  and  I,(.  ap- 
l>r(.acl,rs  so  lu.is.K.ssly  ovor  tlio  clostMvovcn  iiirf 
tliul,  Mili»Tiil,  is  iiih'oiiscioiis  of  Ins  j.rcsoiK'o,  until: 
*'\Vlu.  is  it,  y,Mi  arc  WJik'liing-  for?"  J,„  .,„]<«, 
Hl()|)|>iiio-  lH>foi(.  ||,»r. 

"  1  am  iiol,  walcliiiin-  f,,,.  .,ny  oiu*,"  kIu»  answers; 
ni  Mu«  sanu'  linio  movinij:  in  oidiM-  to  n.ak«>  way  for 
•''••'  <o  pass  tIn<M.-h  (l.(«nato,-  an  inip^.M}' per- 
mission  I.,>  avails  liin.scif  of,  l.nt  .i^ocs  no  faillicr. 

"Hah!  toll  in»«  :i -ill  can  stand  ipnct  for  a  fnll 
'»:«"'  '>'»'»'i  unless  she  is  wailin.i;-  lor  some  one,  or 
knows  sli(>  is  look«Ml  at,'*  he  stops  to  say. 

"Notwithstanding-  that  yon  do  not  believe  nio, 
I  Hiill  t(>ll  yon  1  am  not  lookino-  for  any  one,"  jin- 
Mwers  Milieent,  eoldly. 

"Not  for  that  fi'llow  UnpduirtV" 
"  Not  (nen  for  him." 

'I  May  1  ask" — Thomas  ehan<;es  his  tone  ton 
polite  t)n(>  -   "  what  arc  yonr  intentions  in  regard 
U)  this  stranger  ?  " 
"  1  iiave  none  "  — 

"I  aeknowl(>dgo  there  is  enongh  to  tnrn  yonv 
head,"  lui  interrnpts.  -  If  Jio  fliids  tishing  good 
spiU't,  flirting  also  is  pheasant  pastinie  for  these 
snnnner  weeks,  before  th(«  feUow's  aecpiaintanees 
Nvdl  retnrn  to  the  eity,  an.l  life  there  be  at  all 
worth  living.  l\>rmit  mc  to  give  yon  a  word  of 
warning.  rnpdiart's  kind  don't  "thiidv  nuieh  of 
marrying.  A  little  love-making,  to  pass  the  timo 
with  a  i>retty  girl  st>emingly  ji  few  degrees  better 
tliau  a  lisherman's  dauiihter  "  — 


Ptl.OT  FOIiTiJNE. 


58 


l-slti,,,,.-  '""  ''^  '"  l"'""I  "'o  as  to  my 

;;||'";Kl'll">am„,.|,I,ar,W„„„." 

l»ll"'tll<>Msly.  O'CH  MlllWUt, 

"''•'*    y""'     li(U(.     |„„|y    ..w,.;.rv    of     n- 

W(>il(  r '•  1,0  ,,„,,,„„    .,  •'    '"^''"y   "t    this    jrreat 
■.,..,,.0.  '     ''"'  ■'"   'f  ■■"""■^"''  'V  l.er    vehe. 

"  VV,.:uy  t«  .loatl,  I      [f  1  ,,,„,,,  „„, 

of  it.     If  you  wo   ,  •^""  •'"■"  ""  ""l'»ti<'..t 

-.".•Hivr;!:'  ;;;;:".i!' -  •■''■"?""•■■  -f  ^  took  ,•*  „„ro 

save  ,„„  f,,„„  ,,„  ,,      ,  VV„„1<1  y„,„  j,,^„^,,^^ 

of  otl„.,-,s  ••  ^     •  "'"^"  ""'"*  l'=«  >"■*»  the  work 

*'"'  "  ^^^^  i*  "tcie  aiirug  of  her 


-*;JJl^WKiLJUJj.'.i 


54 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


n^ 


shoulders,  meant  to  show  disdain  for  her  last  re- 
mark :  — 

"  After  all,  if  I  had  only  a  chance  to  see  some 
of  those  pomjis  and  vanities  Aunt  Ursula  has  such 
a  great  contempt  for,  I  have  n't  the  slightest  doubt 
that  I  should  lind  there  is  something  pleasant  in 
life,  in  spite  of  drawbacks." 

"You  little  fool,"  Thomas  says,  half  good-hu- 
moredly,  half  pityingly.  "  Do  you  think  you 
would  find  it  such  an  easy  game  ?  You  who  can't 
bear  a  rough  word  from  your  aunt,  how  would  you 
bear  it  if,  while  you  were  playing  the  queen,  some 
one  made  an  ill-natured  remark  about  you  ?  You 
would  break  your  silly  heart  with  mere  rage  and 
vexation.  Every  part  of  God's  earth  is  made  for 
some  use  ;  and  just  such  rough,  out-of-the-way  spots 
as  this  are  as  cities  of  refuge  to  some  poor  hunted 
mortals." 

"  It  is  not  the  place  I  complain  of." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  way  out  of  your  difficulties,  if 
you  will  marry  Stephen.  He  will  not  starve  you, 
literally  nor  metaphorically ;  and  so  you  will  be 
comfortably  rid  of  all  the  evils  you  complain  of." 

Milicent  droops  her  head,  her  face  in  a  flame. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  was  doing  when  you 
came  up,"  she  says,  hurriedly.  "  I  was  thinking 
that  it  is  a  month  ago  this  very  evening  since  I 
asked  Stei)hen  to  give  me  a  month  to  decide  when 
I  would  marry  him.  And  now  I  will  tell  him  I 
will  marry  him,  on  one  condition." 

"  Milicent,  are  you  mad !  "  ex  'aims  Thomas, 
his  eyes  flashing  threateningly. 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  55 

"  _ro«  need  not  be  personally  implicated,"  she 
contmues    not  heeding  his  anger,  and  lifting  her 
head  resolutely.     "But   I  am  determined   n!t  to 
marry  Stephen  with  a  lie  in  my  hand  " 
ion  r  ™^  when  did  you  come  to  this  virtuous  decis- 

"  Only  this  moment,  since  your  own  words  have 
iZ  r    ;  """•  ""'^'"'^^^  "'  "'y  -nduet,  ifl 

befli  ™."f  hajl  many  misgivings  and  doubts 
before  now,  she  adds,  hastily.  "  There  are  some 
persons  so  true  themselves  that  one  dares  not  be 
false  to  them  :  and  Stephen  is  one  of  these." 

1  thought  you  loved  him.  I  did  not  know  you 
were  only  overcome  by  his  virtues,"  says  ThomT 
contemptuously.  "Of  course  you  need' not  Cy 
him  If  you  do  not  wish  to  do  so.     No  one  is  bent 

betttT"  r-     ^"'^'  ''  yo"  ''-«   -  chance  to 
better  your  hfe,  and  you  do  not  choose  to  take  it 

"  You  should  not  complain,"  says  Milicent.     "  I 

.rstiCt:.'^  ^"^"* ""''"  ^- «--  -  -p  -^ 

"Softly,   softly!      One  would    suppose  I   had 
taken  an  unwarranted  liberty  in  giWng  you  advice 
I  don  t  know  tha   Stephen  will  not  ilnd  it  a  bit  of 

fontri"'  *"  '""  ^""'  ^'""^  y-  ''-«  -  -«- 

mafeJhl"l^'*"  ""^t  think  me  right  in  refusing  to 
make  his  hfe  miserable,"  replies  Milicent. 

1  am  not  bound  to  look  out  for  Stephen's  in- 


56 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


i 


Ml' 


terests.  I  fancy  he  could  manage  you  in  some  way, 
if  he  married  you.  It  is  only  your  side  of  the  mat- 
ter that  I  have  been  considering ;  and  I  still  hold 
to  the  opinion  that  you  are  silly  to  keep  to  poverty, 
when  you  could  get  a  fair  competency.  Besides, 
the  truth  and  honesty  you  seem  to  set  such  store 
on  are  not  altogether  current  in  this  world,  and 
many  might  suspect  them  to  be  counterfeits." 

"  But,"  says  Milicent,  throwing  back  her  head, 
and  looking  boldly  into  his  eyes, "  I  have  a  great 
desire  to  obtain  those  baubles,  honesty  and  truth, 
and  unfortunately  they  are  not  heirlooms." 

Did  Milicent  intend  to  rouse  that  sudden  flash 
of  anger  ?  Certainly  she  quails  under  it,  and 
shrinks  back  when  Thomas  comes  menacingly  to- 
wards her.  Yet  she  could  no  more  have  curbed 
her  words  than  she  could  have  stayed  the  tide 
which  is  fast  covering  the  rocks. 

Poor  little  Milicent !  Helpless  and  weak,  and 
yet  fighting  against  the  inevitable,  as  the  strong 
would  not  dare  to  do.  If  she  would  only  bend  her 
shoulders  to  the  burden,  she  might  in  time  grow 
used  to  the  strain  uj)on  her  strength,  and  so  walk 
firmly  and  without  pain.  But,  instead,  she  is  re- 
belling, and  saying  she  will  have  none  of  it. 

What  Thomas  might  have  done  in  his  ungov- 
ernable rage  Milicent  never  knows ;  for  there  is 
Stephen  calling  her  name.  She  was  never  so  un- 
utterably glad  to  hear  his  voice  before  ;  never  felt 
as  now,  what  it  would  be  to  give  him  the  right  to 
protect  and  care  for  her.  She  pushes  through  the 
gate,  and  without  a  word  slips  her  hand  into  his 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


67 


arm  and  walks  away  with  him,  never  glaneing  be- 
hmd  her  at  Ihoma.  who  has  taken  up  his  bafket, 
and  IS  turning  towards  the  house 

"What  was  it,  Milly ?  Did  Thomas  frighten 
you  ?     asks  Steplien,  wrathfuUy  " 

"I  was  frightened  for  a  moment.  It  was  my 
own  fault  I  had  no  right  to  say  to  him  what  I 
did,  eontesses  Mdicent;  and  Stephen  does  not 
question  her  as  to  what  she  regrets  having  said  to 
her  aunt's  flshe rman. 

They  walk  on  together,  over  the  brow  of  the  hill 

the  chif  ,  Milieent  stops,  and  seats  herself  on  one 
of  the  detached  stones.  Stephen  throws  himself 
on  the  rocks  at  her  feet. 

of  ^ttr  >!'^  ■''  '•'™"'' ''™''™  ""'y  ^y  tl'o  «'Wies 

rock     vj;;    f  T  ,'""•   *"'  ^■"^«'''  '-"<•  *« 
rocks   vvith   a   soft,  lappmg  music,  certainly  the 

sweetest  Nature  gives  „s.     It  soothes  the  girf  and 

takes  away  from  her  that  sense  of  somethWh?^ 

peniug  which   had  disturbed  her.      Is  not  "eveX 

thing  the  same  as  before  she  made  her  resolution' 

How  many  times  she  has  been  here  with  Stephen' 

as  now    upon  this  long  breakwater  of  the  Cove' 

and  looked  across  these  bastions  to  the  sweep  of 

Greenhead  cliffs,  as  they  stand  in  the  whU  Irf 

1   I   tTT;    ,'™'r"^  "'"'^'-S  >vith  the  yellov^ 
light  that  flecks  the  grass,  and  tips  their  black- 
green  crest  of  fir  and  spruce.     How  many  t  me    . 
Why  should  there  come  any  chan..e' 
is  ill"^"''"  ''  Urquhart's  boat,"  stys  Stephen,  who 
3  looking  seaward.     "  How  fond  he  is  of  bein..  ^n 
the  water!  ''  ~         *  '"" 


68 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  It  is  only  because  the  sea  is  a  novelty  to  liim," 
answers  Miliccnt,  carelessly.  "  He  would  grow 
weary  of  his  boat  if  he  stayed  here  very  long." 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  He  is  genuinely  in  love 
with  the  sea.  No  doubt,  if  he  had  not  more  money 
than  he  well  knows  what  to  do  with,  he  would  have 
been  a  sailor.  By  the  way,  Milly,  I  have  asked 
him  to  spend  part  of  next  summer  with  me.  You 
don't  object  ?  " 

He  says  this  a  little  anxiously.  These  weeks 
have  thrown  the  three  together  intimately.  Mili- 
cent  has  been  constantly  on  the  water  with  the  two 
men  ;  Miss  Ursula  having  for  so  long  looked  upon 
Stephen  as  the  girl's  best  j^rotector,  that  she  never 
questions  how  the  holiday  hours  are  passed,  if  only 
the  allotted  amount  of  needlework  and  knitting  be 
accomplished.  At  her  gate,  Milicent  would  dis- 
miss her  cavaliers  ;  Urquhart,  for  one,  having  no 
desire  to  go  farther.  But  there  is  not  a  day  he 
does  not  manage  to  meet  her  out-of-doors ;  and 
Stephen  has  some  shrewd  doubts  as  to  whether  it 
is  really  the  fishing  which  is  the  inducement  to 
so  long  a  tarrying.  If  Urquhart,  however,  is  be- 
ginning to  be  lover-like  in  his  attentions  to  Mili- 
cent, the  girl  laughs  at  the  slightest  show  of  sen- 
timent, and  is  much  inclined  to  rally  him  on  his 
fastidiousness,  —  her  ideas  of  manliness  having 
been  formed  on  an  experience  of  a  hard,  exposed 
life,  which  would  kill  most  men  not  inured  to  hard- 
ship from  childhood.  Urquhart,  on  his  part,  is 
amused  by  Milicent's  hostility,  and  takes  delight 
in  rousing    her   disdain.      Perhaps,   as    he    told 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


59 


?» 


. 


Stephen,  he  has  found  too  many  smiles  during  his 
not  very  long  life,  and  a  frown  is  a  new  sensation, 
iie  that  as  it  may,  Stephen  would  prefer  that  the 
two  should  be  better  friends  ;  or  rather,  it  may 
be,  that  the  yacht  and  its  owner  should  sail  away 
to  fish  m  other  waters.  But  next  summer  it  wiU 
be  different ;  and  if  Milieent  does  not  object  — 

"I  object!  Certainly  not.  Why  shoiUd  I?" 
she  is  askingf. 

"  Because  next  summer  Urquhart  will  be  your 
guest,  if  he  is  mine,"  replies  Stephen,  looking  up 
at  her  and  smiling.  '^ 

"  You  have  not  told  him  so  ? "  asks  Milieent, 
nastily. 

"No,  but  I  shall  soon.  Milly,  our  month  is 
out  to-day.  I  have  passed  weeks  of  expectancy, 
which  would  have  been  intolerable  if  I  had  not 
been  quite  sure  you  wished  me  to  wait." 

Milieent  is  not  looking  at  him,  but  out  on  the 
sea  where  Urquhart's  boat  is  sailing.  "Some 
words  are  so  difficult  to  say,"  she  begins,  in  a  slow, 
measured  tone. 

"  These  ought  not  to  be  difficult,  Milly,  when 
you  remember  how  long  I  have  loved  you,  and  how 
happy  they  will  make  me." 

"But  it  is  something  quite  differer :  from  our 
marriage  that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about, 
btephen,  if  I  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  my 
life,  would  you  advise  me  to  confess  it,  or  to  live 
on  as  if  I  had  not  made  it  ?  " 

"That  depends  very  much  upon  whether  you 
would  like  to  speak  of  it  or  not." 


60 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  But  if  Home  one  else  were  involved,  —  some 
one  else's  happinesn,  —  have  I  a  right  to  keep  si- 
lent?" 

The  whole  current  of  her  thoughts  and  desires 
has  been  violently  changed  in  the  last  hour  ;  and 
it  is  difficult  for  her  to  judge  whether  her  decision 
would  be  a  wise  one.  She  forgets  that  it  is  hardly 
generous  to  make  Stephen  the  judge. 

"I  cannot  imagine  your  keeping  silence.  I  have 
never  found  you  in  the  least  reticent,"  he  says,  not 
catching  the  tone  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"  Thanks,"  she  says,  a  little  hurt,  but  unwilling 
to  show  it ;  "  but  frequently  I  fancy  our  best  friends 
do  not  quite  understand  us.  I  think  it  would  kill 
me,  Stephen,  to  know  you  trusted  me  implicitly, 
and  that  I  deceived  you,  even  if  I  did  so  from  a 
mistaken  idea  of  making  you  happy." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  you  could  deceive  me,  Milly. 
I  have  known  yon  so  well  and  so  long :  ever  since 
you  were  a  small  child,"  is  his  confident  rejoinder. 

"  And  you  have  known  everything  about  me, 
Stephen  ?  " 

"  Everything.     Much  more  than  you  think." 

"  Tell  me  some  of  the  things,  —  something  more 
of  my  life  than  I  suppose  you  knov,*  she  says, 
with  eagerness. 

"  I  know  that  often  you  weary  of  your  work, 
and  long  to  be  out  in  the  sunslnne  when  Miss  Ur- 
sula wishes  you  to  be  employeci  in-doors.  I  know, 
too,  that  she  is  not  always  kind,  though  I  think  she 
does  not  mean  to  hurt  you.  And,"  here  he  lowers 
his  voice,  and  looks  away  from  her, "  in  the  winter, 


S   i 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


61 


when  the  weather  is  rough,  I  fear  the  house  is  cold, 
and  tlie  coarse  diet  you  are  forced  to  put  up  with 
is  neither  plentiful  nor  proper  for  you." 

"  But  that  is  never  for  very  long,"  says  Milicent, 
smiling.  "  For  a  load  of  wood  is  sure  to  come 
from  the  cottage,  as  well  as  something  nice  to  eat. 
Is  this  re,  Uy  all  you  know  of  my  life  ?  "  ahe  adds, 
anxiously, 

"  Is  it  not  enough  ?  Cannot  you  think  what  I 
suffer  when  I  am  sure  you  need  so  much,  and  I 
could  rid  you  of  all  your  troubles  if  you  would  only 

let  me  ? "  ->  J 

"  Could  you  rid  me  of  all,  Stephen  ?  I  know 
you  are  generous  enough  to  do  so  at  any  personal 
cost ;  therefore  I  nmst  be  the  more  careful  for  you. 
But  how  long  have  you  known  so  much  about  us  ? 
Poor  Aunt  Ursula  !  She  has  been  trying  to  look 
as  if  she  were  used  to  all  hardships,  and  did  not 
mmd  half  starving.  It  is  foolish  to  think  to  have 
secrets  from  one's  neighbors.  But  when  did  you 
discover  so  much  about  us  ?  " 

"  When  I  first  loved  you,  Milly." 
"And  that   has  been  more  than  a  year;  two 
years  this  autumn,"  she  says,  thoughtfully. 

"  It  has  been  much  longer  than  that.  I  have 
loved  you  ever  since  we  were  children,  and  made 
sand-houses  on  the  Pea-Jack  beach  together.  I 
used  to  be  in  a  fury  with  Miss  Ursula  when  she 
sent  you  into  solitary  confinement  for  wetting  your 
dress,  when  we  waded  for  dulse;  and  I* often 
thought  if  I  were  a  man  I  would  punish  her  for 
her  cruelty.'' 


62 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


4( 


But  I 


11  ^'  r 


Jut  I  was  only  doomed  to  imprisonment  until 
my  dress  dried  ;  for  my  wardrobe  was  not  so  full 
as  good  Queen  Bess's.  I  was  an  ungrateful  little 
wretch,  and  used  to  trample  down  your  sand-houses 
if  they  were  at  all  more  perfect  than  mine.  Ah, 
Stephen  !  with  all  the  hardships  and  trials  of  those 
days,  how  I  wish  we  were  both  children  again, 
building  in  the  sand  !  " 

"  I  hope  both  of  us  have  a  better  foundation  to 
build  on  now,"  answers  Stephen,  trying  to  speak 
lightly. 

"  No  ;  no  better.  It  is  still  shifting  sand  we  are 
building  on,  that  any  tide  of  fate  or  storm  of  cir- 
cumstance may  trample  down  ;  and  it  is  best  you 
should  know  it." 

"  Know  what,  Milly  ?  I  am  sure  I  do  not  un- 
derstand you." 

She  does  not  answer  liim,  and  he  turns  to  look 
at  her.  She  is  gazing  intently  at  him,  as  if  watch- 
ing the  effect  of  her  words  upon  him.  "  Stephen, 
would  you  care  so  very  much  if  I  told  you  I  must 
not  marry  you  ?  " 

It  is  the  subtlest  change  which  comes  over  Ste- 
phen's face,  —  a  change  like  the  slowly  deepening 
shadow  of  a  cloud  that  sweeps  just  then  across 
the  sea.  There  is  the  briefest  pause,  and  then: 
"  Would  I  care,  Milly?  That  does  not  seem  to  me 
half  so  important  a  question  as  why  you  must 
not." 

"  There  is  something  which  holds  me  back,  some- 
thing —  so  that  I  dare  not  promise  "  —  she  begins, 
in  a  slow,  measured  voice,  as  if  she  were  compel- 
ling herself  to  speak. 


4  \  W 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


68 


"  Some  i^erson,  Milly  ?  " 

She  does  not  answer  at  once ;  and  then  says 
evasively,  "  It  cannot  matter  very  much  what  it  is, 
if  it  separates  us." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  It  would  make  a 
great  deal  of  difference  to  mo  why  I  had  to  part 
from  you,"  says  Stephen,  finnly. 

"  Would  it  make  it  any  easier  to  you  to  know 
that  I  am  unworthy  to  be  your  wife  ?  " 

"  That  would  be  small  comfort  indeed,"  he  an- 
swers,  smiling,  as  if  relieved  from  a  great  fear. 

"  What  would  make  a  difference  to  you?  "  ' 

"Nothing,  unless  some  one  stood  between  us 
and  "  —  ' 

"Some  one  does  stand  between  us,"  answers 
Milicent,  quickly, —  "some  one  does  stand  between 
us." 

That  cloudy  shadow  deepens  on  the  sea,  and 
Stephen's  face,  turned  towards  Urquhart's  white- 
winged  boat  skimming  just  beyond  it,  changes,  as 
it  the  light  were  suddenly  shut  out. 

Milicent,  watching  him,  and  seeing  the  change, 
but  not  the  cause,  says  very  low  : 

"  It  seems  so  very  hard  that  we  have  so  little 
control  over  ourselves  that  we  can  never  be  free 
from  the  consequences  of  a  wrong  act.  And  the 
worst  of  it  is,  that  the  innocent  are  punished  He 
had  nearly  the  whole  world  to  choose  from,  when 
he  came  here ;  and  that  he  should  have  blindly 
chanced  on  this  one  spot,  and  so  worked  harm  to 
you,  through  me  "  — 

She  breaks  off  suddenly,  startled  to  find  how 


i?fiHifcitfii'igfcM5#feSi 


I 

If; 


64 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


much  easier  it  is  to  confess  the  whole  truth  to  him, 
than  to  keep  it  back. 

"  If  I  coukl  only  tell  you  all,"  she  says,  "  if  I 
were  free  to  tell  you,  you  might  find  excuse  for  me. 
I  never  wished  to  deceive  you,  and  living  at  the 
cottage  seemed  like  going  to  heaven,  to  me.  And 
it  looked  like  stabbing  you  in  your  sleep,  just  to 
break  with  you,  and  give  no  reason.  But,"  she 
adds,  looking  down  and  twisting  her  fingers  ner- 
vously, as  her  hands  lie  clasped  in  her  lap,  while  a 
faint  blusli  mounts  slowly  up  into  her  face,  "  it  was 
only  to-day  that  he  said  anything  which  made  me 
sure  how  wickedly  and  deceitfully  I  have  behaved 
to  you." 

"  No  one  else  would  I  permit  to  say  such  things 
about  you,  Milly,"  says  Stephen.  His  voice  is  low 
and  quiet :  apparently  he  does  not  mean  to  press 
her  with  questions  such  as  she  has  been  bracing 
herself  to  resist. 

Milicent's  eyes  grow  dim,  as  ";he  gazes  out  be- 
fore her  where  a  gauzy  veil  drawn  over  the  dis- 
tance has  hidden  Urquhart's  boat.  The  far  moan 
of  the  fog-horn  at  the  light-horse  shows  the  fog  is 
lurking  in  the  Fundy,  though  it  keeps  off  here. 
To  Milicent's  present  mood  there  is  something  in- 
expressibly dreary  in  that  sound,  the  tliree  slow 
moans  echoed  by  rock  and  water.  And  how  will 
it  be  when  she  will  have  to  hear  it  through  the 
long,  long  stormy  evenings  in  the  old  home,  with 
no  vista  of  the  cottage  beyond  ? 

If  Stephen  had  her  horror  of  those  lonely  even- 
ings, could  he  give  her  up  so  easily  ? 


r 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


66 


l 


Yet  when  she  glances  askance  at  him,  she  sees 
calm  and  firm  as  he  is,  that  this  thing  is  not  easy 
to  hnn.     If  she  could  tell  him  everything,  if  she 
were  not  hampered  by  a  promise,  would  he  ever 
give  her  up  ? 

But  she  is  hampered.  She  can  do  no  more  than 
put  her  hand  out  timidly  and  touch  his  sleeve,  as 
he  leans  heavily  forward  on  the  rock  which  forms 
the  ai-m  of  his  chair  at  her  feet. 

He  does  not  turn  to  her  quite  at  once  i  and  she 
falters  :  — 

"  I  can  see  now  how  wicked  it  wab.  It  is  easy 
to  say  I  would  rather  have  died  than  have  to  tell 
you  this ;  but  indeed  it  is  the  truth." 

"  I  would  rather  have  you  on  earth,  Milly,  with 
ever  so  small  a  chance  of  hearing  of  or  seeing  you 
sometimes,"   Stephen  says,  wishing  to  soothe   her 
evident  distress  and  bitter   self-reproach.      ^'You 
must  not  think  I  fiud  it  difficult  to  forgive  you. 
You  are  much  harder  on  yourself  than  I  shall  ever 
be  on  you.     But,  Milly,  you  must  promise  me  not 
to  talk  so  wildly  to  any  one  else.     Having  known 
you  from  a  child,  I  know  how  impetuous  you  are, 
and  that  you  were  never  inclined  to  make  self-ex- 
cuses.      But   any  one   else   might   misunderstand 
you.     So  you  must  promise  me  to  be  more  care- 
ful." 

"  I  will  promise,"  replies  Milicent,  with  a  pa. 
thetic  little  smile.  "  But  I  hope  never  in  my  life 
to  have  to  feel  again  such  self-condemnation." 

.i"  ^Tf.'^''  ""^^  ^''^  "^  ^"^  ^^  ^^  strangers  to  each 
otlier,  Milly.     I  could  not  bear  to  give  up  seeing 


I 


66 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


you  altogether,  at  least  as  long  as  we  are  neigh- 
bors." 

"  We  shall  always  be  neighbors,  unless  you 
weary  of  tlie  life  here,  and  go  away  from  us.  If 
anything  unforeseen  should  happen,  and  I  should 
have  to  leave,  I  will  be  sure  to  tell  you.  There  is 
notliing  to  prevent  us  from  going  back  to  the  dear 
old  time  before  you  told  me  you  wished  to  marry 
me.  Stephen,  if  you  could  go  back  so  far,  I  would 
be  so  glad !  " 

"  A  man  cannot  wal^  backwards,  Milly." 

"And  the  future  is  so  difficult  and  uncertain. 
May  I  come  to  you  if  I  lose  my  way  and  am  sore 
perplexed  ?  For,  Stephen,  I  have  no  other  friend 
but  you  to  counsel  or  to  help  me." 

"  I  will  always  help  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
Milly,"  he  says. 

He  looks  up  at  her  as  he  speaks,  and  sees  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  a  skiff  which  is  impelled  by  the 
vigorous  strokes  of  a  pair  of  oars. 

A  great  jealousy  overcomes  Stephen.  What  is 
there  about  this  Urquhart  that  has  in  a  few  short 
weeks  accomplished  what  he  in  almost  a  lifetime 
has  failed  in?  Certainly  he,  Stephen,  has  been 
more  in  earnest,  and  has  striven  harder.  Yet  some 
gain  what  they  wish  for  so  easily  that  they  seem 
born  conquerors  ;  and  others,  braver,  truer-hearted, 
with  a  far  better  reason  for  success,  fail  miserably. 

"  You  will  not  mind  my  leaving  you,  Milly  ?  " 
asks  Stephen,  beseechingly. 

He  desires  to  be  generous  and  not  pain  her,  and 
yet  he  cannot  meet  Lrquliart  just  now. 


SJ 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


67 


"  No,"  she  says,  holding  out  her  hand  to  him. 
'^  I  will  not  keep  you  any  longer.  I  should  have 
remembered  how  late  it  is.  If  I  were  only  sure 
you  can  forgive  me  !  " 

"  Be  very  sure  I  do.  You  must  not  torment 
yourself  with  a  fear  that  I  do  not.  The  next  time 
we  meet,  it  must  be  in  the  old,  old  way." 

He  cannot  say  more  to  reassure  her,  for  Ur- 
quhart  is  within  calling  distance,  and  is  shout- 
ing to  him  to  come  and  help  him  beach  the  skiff. 
But  Stephen  pretends  not  to  hear,  and  walks  away 
over  the  cliffs,  and  through  the  fields  to  the  cot- 
tage ;  the  same  way  Milicent  returned  that  after- 
noon in  June,  when  they  sat  together  under  the 
lilac-bush,  looking  out  upon  the  sea,  and  upon  a 
future  brighter  than  Stephen  can  hope  to  look  for- 
ward to  again. 

Urquhart's  voice  calling  to  Stephen  first  drav/s 
Milicent's  attention  to  him.  She  had  been  gazing 
so  far  before  her  that  she  had  failed  to  recognize 
what  was  quite  near.  If  she  had  seen  that  it  was 
Urquhart  rowing  towards  them,  she  would  have 
kept  Stephen.  Certainly,  she  had  given  him  the 
impression  that  she  was  watching  Urquhart,  and 
so  added  another  pang  to  the  wound  she  had  al- 
ready made. 

Before  Urquhart  can  beach  the  skiff  and  spring 
on  shore,  Milicent  has  walked  away.  She  can 
hear  Urquhart's  footsteps  behind  her,  evidently  try- 
ing to  overtake  her :  but  she  will  not  look  round 
nor  slacken  her  speed,  which  she  could  not  have 
quickened  unless  she  actually  ran  away. 


68 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I 


"  Please,  Miss  Milicent,  wait  a  moment,"  calls 
Urquhart :  and  she  has  to  make  a  most  unwilling 
halt  until  he  comes  to  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  and  Stephen  ?  " 
is  Urquliart's  unlucky  question.  "  You  both  seem 
bent  upon  putting  the  greatest  possible  distance 
between  you,  in  the  shortest  possible  time.  I 
feared  you  had  both  grown  deaf,  for  I  have  been 
shouting  to  you  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  without 
gaining  the  least  degree  of  attention  ;  but  now  I 
am  convinced  that  there  has  been  a  small  quarrel, 
and  with  the  luck  that  good,  innocent  people  usually 
meet  with,  I  am  in  consequence  to  be  the  sufferer." 

Milicent  turns  slowly  and  reluctantly  to  answer 
Urquhart ;  and  as  she  does  so,  Stephen  also  turns 
to  look  at  her.  He  is  a  good  way  off,  crossing  one 
of  his  own  fields,  so  that  he  cannot  heir  her  cold 
reply  to  Urquliart's  greeting,  nor  can  he  see  from 
her  face,  as  Urquhart  does,  that  he  is  not  welcome. 
The  rest  of  Stephen's  walk  home  is  far  more  pain- 
ful, after  his  hasty  glance,  than  it  would  be  if  he 
were  a  close  observer. 

As  for  Urquhart,  Milicent  is  so  preoccupied 
that  he  is  sure  she  has  had  a  quarrel  with  Stephen. 
Scarcely  a  serious  one,  for  Milicent  shows  noth- 
a  woman's  sure  signal  of  distress,  —  tears. 


ing  o.. 


Neither  is  there  any  anger  in  her  eyes,  nor  spice  of 
the  evil  one,  which  Urquhart  affects  to  admire  ;  but 
a  far-off,  wistful  look,  as  if  she  had  seen  something 
she  will  never  see  again  all  the  days  of  her  life. 

At  the  gate,  Urquhart  says  good-by,  and  Mili- 
cent goes  slowly  to  the  house.    She  is  not  thinking 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


69 


)» 


of  Urquhart,  who  turns  to  look  at  her.  Nor  is  she 
thinking  altogether  of  Stephen.  Before  her  is  her 
unsightly  home,  the  windows  all  ablaze  with  the 
reflection  of  the  setting  sun.  The  burnished  panes 
do  not  beautify  the  house  ;  indeed,  they  only 
heighten  its  ugliness.  Milicent  has  just  then  a 
vision  of  the  cottage  embowered  in  vines,  —  the  cot- 
tage she  has  refused  to  make  her  home,  choosing 
rather  this  mass  of  ugliness.  It  has  been  entirely 
her  own  act.  She  has  not  given  Stephen  the  decis- 
ion wljether  to  lose  or  keep  her.  She  herself  has 
rejected  the  sweet  and  taken  the  bitter.  This 
sacrifice  on  her  part  has  not  pleased  any  one ;  and 
she  feels  no  great  elation  at  simply  doing  right. 

When  Milicent  goes  into  the  kitchen,  Thomas  is 
sitting  there  smoking  his  pipe,  and  Miss  Ursula  is 
busied  in  preparing  tea.  The  girl  lingers  a  few 
minutes,  idly  gazing  into  the  fire  ;  then  turns  to  go 
into  the  hall  on  her  way  up-stairs. 

"Tea  is  nearly  ready,"  announces  Miss  Ur- 
sula. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  any.  I  am  going  to  bed," 
answers  Milicent,  in  a  weary  tone. 

"  Fine  acquaintances  give  dainty  appetites.  There 
is  nothing  here  to  pamper  one,"  says  Miss  Ursula, 
who  has  seen  Urquhart  at  the  gate,  —  a  sight  of 
whom,  for  some  reason  she  does  not  explain,  al- 
ways makes  her  temper  sharper.  "I  only  hope 
you  will  not  lose  your  loaf  and  keep  your  hunger. 
Stephen  seems  to  me  to  be  failing  in  patience  of 
late." 

"  I  wish  he  would  fail  utterly.     One  never  feels 


!1 


*1K 

11'      f 


70 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


half  so  sorry  for  impatient  people  as  for  the  pa- 
tient ones,"  returns  Milicent. 

"  Then  you  ought  never  to  complain  of  any  lack 
of  sympathy,"  remarks  Miss  Ursula,  dryly. 

"  Let  the  child  alone,"  says  Thomas,  knocking 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe.  "  Such  a  thing  as  pity 
we  might  afford  to  give  her  ;  but  then  it  is  jewels 
she  craves.  Did  you  keep  the  two  costly  ones  you 
were  so  anxious  about  an  hour  or  two  ago?"  he 
adds,  addressing  Milicent. 

"  Yes,"  slio  answers  slowly,  "  I  kept  them." 

He  is  watching  her  from  under  the  shade  of  his 
hand,  as  he  rests  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
The  girl  has  laid  her  hand  on  the  table,  as  she 
pauses  to  answer  him ;  and  the  lamp  flares  into 
her  face,  a  little  pale  and  very  weary,  as  of  one 
who  has  fought  her  battle  and  been  worsted  by  the 
victory. 

The  gloom  in  his  own  face  deepens  as  he  looks ; 
and  then  he  shrugs  his  shoulders  in  a  sort  of  bitter 
skepticism. 

"  At  a  great  sacrifice,"  he  says.  "  One  has  only 
to  look  at  you,  to  know  that.  I  hope  your  jewels 
may  repay  you,  and  also  that  you  may  manage  al- 
ways to  retain  them,  since  you  value  them  so  much. 
But  do  not  parade  them  too  ostentatiously." 

"  Kest  easy,"  says  Milicent.  "  No  one  could 
guess  I  have  them." 

Miss  Ursula,  who  in  moving  about  the  kitchen 
has  but  half  heard,  and  not  at  all  understood,  this 
fragment  of  conversation,  now  puts  the  tea-pot  on 
the  table.  But  Milieent's  appetite  has  not  re- 
turned, and  she  goes  up-stairg. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


71 


Thomas  was  right  when  he  called  her  jewels 
costly.  No  one  knows  better  than  she,  what  she 
has  paid  to  retain  them  ;  and  the  hard  part  of  it 
all  is,  she  is  sure  she  will  feel  the  poorer,  not  for 
now  only,  but  for  all  her  life. 


"  But  I  have  known  tlie  lark's  song  half  sound  sad, 
And  I  have  seen  the  sea,  which  rippled  sun, 
Toss  dimmed  and  purple  in  a  sudden  wind  : 
And  let  me  laugh  a  moment  at  my  heart 
That  tliinks  the  summer-time  must  all  be  fair. 
That  thinks  the  good  days  always  must  be  good  ; 
Yet  let  me  laugh  a  moment,  --may  be  weep." 

MiLiCENT  walks  over  to  the  cottage  one  after- 
noon, and  stands  for  some  time  looking  over  the 
low  picket  fence ;  safe  from  meeting  any  one,  for 
she  knows  Stephen  is  away. 

Her  quick  eye  detects  a  change  in  the  pretty 
lawn,  an  evident  want  of  care  about  the  whole 
place.  The  vines  over  the  porch  are  untrained, 
and  long  branches  of  honeysuckle  trail  over  the 
grass. 

The  girl  is  sorry,  and  half  resentful,  as  she  might 
be  at  the  neglect  of  a  loved  one  ;  and  she  feels,  as 
never  before,  how  much  the  expectation  of  one  day 
calling  the  cottage  home  has  been"  to  her. 

It  is  the  old  story  of  the  outcast  peri  at  the 
gate,  she  tries  to  tell  herself,  rallyingiy.  She  has 
lost  her  Eden.  The  outside  life  looks  very  dreary 
to  the  poor  impatient  child,  as  she  stands  there 
facing  it.  Year  after  year  stretches  out  before 
her,  a  long,  dull  road  without  a  turning  ;  a  daily 
routine  of  work,  of  trial,  of  penury. 

She  stands  at  the  shut  gate  a  long  time,  with  a 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


78 


weary  look  in  her  face,  a  dull  pain  at  her  heart: 
before   she  turns  and  takes  the  path  across  the 

fields  to  the  shore.     She  walks  away  slowly, so 

slowly  that  the  sun  has  set  when  she  at  last  clam- 
bers down  from  the  cliffs,  and  reaches  the  lower 
range  of  rocks  forming  the  irregular  plateau  nearer 
the  level  of  the  sea.  The  rosy  glow  of  the  sunset 
is  still  lingering,  and  the  long  northern  twilight 
makes  it  very  far  from  night. 

Suddenly,  as  she  for  a  moment  leaves  the  rocks 
for  that  foothold  of  a  path  which  curves  out  behind 
Green  Cove,  Milicent  comes  upon  Urquhart,  who, 
with  the  oars  of  his  skiff  upon  his  shoulder,  is  in 
the  act  of  descending  to  the  Cove,  where  his  boat 
is  beached.  He  comes  forward  eagerly  when  he 
sees  her,  and  begs  that  she  will  let  him  take  her 
out. 

Though  the  girl  does  not  care  very  much  for  his 
or  any  one  else's  society  just  now,  she  has  a  decided 
longing  to  be  afloat  on  the  water ;  so  she  consents 
to  go  with  him. 

Urquhart  has  had  the  yacht's  small  boat  rigged 
up  for  sailing  when  he  does  not  care  to  take  the  Un- 
dine, that  requires  at  least  two  men  to  handle  her. 
But  to-day  there  is  no  breeze,  and  he  unsteps  the 
mast,  intending  to  row  out  some  distance,  and 
when  the  tide  is  running  in,  to  let  the  boat  drift 
back  with  it :  as  the  sea-birds  nesting  on  the  island 
fly  against  the  wind  when  outward-bound,  to  have 
a  fair  wind  on  their  weary  homeward  flight. 

When  they  are  all  out  together,  Milicent  gener- 
ally prefers  taking  an  oar  and  letting  one  of  the 


74 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


men  steoi  ;  hut  this  evening  she  seats  herself  in 
the  st<n'n,  ovidontly  in^(M)'ling  that  Urquhart  shall 
do  the  rovvinjj^.  1-  ^  x\U  out  vij^orously,  scarcely 
aware  himself  oi  how  nuich  energy  he  is  ])utting 
into  the  work.  lie  is  seated  facing  IMilicent, 
when,  he  cannot  avoid  looking  at  her  ;  and  the 
stroke  of  his  oar  is  keeping  time  with  his  thoughts, 
which  are  surging  uj)  in  alnmst  painful  rapidity. 

Urquhart's  position  is  a  dangerous  one  for  any 
man  ;  but  the  more  so  for  him,  be<'ause  IVIilicent 
is  so  unconscious  of  his  admiration. 

If  she  had  ever  shown  coquetry,  or  even  a  desire 
to  make  him  attentive  to  her,  Urquliart  would 
have  been  on  his  guard,  and  so  would  have  es- 
caped. But  it  is  her  entire  indifference  to  any- 
thing he  says  or  does  that  ])i(iues,  while  her 
beauty  and  even  her  fitfulntis  impress  him.  Ab- 
sorbed with  her  own  trials  and  perplexities  as  she 
has  been  of  late,  her  woman's  quick  vision  has 
failed  to  detect  what  Stephen's  slower  sight  did 
not  miss,  —  that  Urquliart  is  in  love  witli  her. 
It  is  just  as  well  she  has  not  seen  it,  or  her  seif- 
love  might  have  been  wounded  by  also  seeing  that 
he  loves  her  unwillingly. 

Urquhart  has  been  a  wonderfully  successful 
man,  so  far  in  life :  money,  a  handsome  face,  an 
easy,  cheerful  temper,  and  a  ha]  ;iy  regard  of  con- 
sequences, which  is  of  itself  a  preventive  of  much 
disaster.  Heretofore,  he  has  had  much  of  the 
honey  of  life,  without  a  drop  of  the  wormwood  and 
the  gall ;  and  with  the  perversity  of  human  nature, 
has  complained  that  so  mucli  sweetness  is  cloying. 


es- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


75 


now. 


He  came  to  tlio  little  fisliin^-viHage  to  learn,  as 
he  thoiiglit,  soiiH.thing  of  the  rougher  paths  of 
life  ;  but  in  i-eality  he  was  in  search  of  a  new  sen- 
sation. And  he  found  one,  in  this  out-of-the-way 
«pot,  when  Jio  found  this  girl,  who  at  every  meet- 
ing is  a  fresh  Huri)rise. 

All  Miliccnt's  out-door  plans  include  Stephen  • 
and  by  tlie  Jielp  of  his  presenee  (for  every  one 
knows  there  is  safety  in  the  mystical  nund)er 
three,  except  in  the  matter  of  a  secret)  Uripdiart 
has  generally  managed  to  keej)  on  his  guard  with 
her  until  tl-is  evening.  So  altogether,  it  is  rash 
m  Urcpihart  to  go  out  thus  with  her  in  the  sum- 
mer  sunset. 

He  is  sure  he  has  never  seen  her  so  beautiful  as 
w.     Sh<    has  thrown  off  her  hat,  and  is  sittincr 
upright,  with  the  ropes  of  the  tiller  in  either  hand'' 
yet  looking  with  far  more  interest  to  the  horizon 
where  the  elouds  are  piled —  pale  lilac,  edged  with 
a  fanit  rose  -    than  to  the  course  of  the  boat  as  it 
pushes  farther  out  to  sea.     "  The  western  waves 
of   ebbing  day"   are  flowing    with    the   peaceful 
npple  far  beyond  the  island:    and   ^he  girl   has 
turned  her  back  upon  its  foaming  fringe  of  eddies 
Its  ruined  walls  and  pinnacles  of  rock,  its  sombre' 
crest  of  w  id-swept  firs,  and  the  -aunt  gray  house 
she  knows  is  sta  ing  down  upon  her.    What  if  she 
were  leaving  all  behind,  floating  away  and  away, 
out  on  this  sea  whose  shores  are  rosy  <loudland  ? 

The  discontent  that  sometimes  dims  her  young 
face  IS  gone ;  in  its  place  there  is  a  soft,  dreamy 
look,  as  if  she  sees  something  in  the  skies.     But  in 


76 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


i-l    1 


11* 


iy|  m 


truth  the  chihl  is  only  thhikinpj  how  pleasant  it 
is  to  row  away  from  all  that  troubles  her ;  wishing 
there  was  no  land,  no  home  for  her,  but  only  an 
eternal  sea. 

She  is  not  thinking  in  the  least  of  Urquhart : 
the  end  of  whos(^  vigorous  rowing  is  that  lu;  fights 
liis  way  out  of  all  the  difficulties  whieh  have  kept 
him  silent  for  nearly  a  month.  Having  eoncpiered, 
he  (piietly  lays  down  the  oars ;  and,  stej)ping  over 
the  beneh  —  whieh  is  now  the  only  barrier  between 
them,  he  is  sure  —  he  eomes  and  takes  a  seat  be- 
side Milieent. 

The  boat  is  trimmed  to  float  in  with  the  tide 
towards  the  island.  Steering  is  as  useless  as  row- 
ing just  now  :  there  is  nothing  to  be  done,  but 
just  what  Urquhart  has  at  last  deeided  to  do. 

If  Milieent  had  blushed,  or  hiul  ai)peared  at  all 
conscious,  if  she  had  even  turned  her  head  to 
look  at  him,  it  would  have  been  easier  for  Ur- 
quhart to  speak.  But  she  is  sitting  quite  still,  gaz- 
ing straight  before  her,  and  evidently  suspecting 
nothing  of  the  tumult  within  him. 

"  Milieent,  look  at  me.  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you,"  says  Urquhart,  laying  his  hand  on  hers, 
which  are  clasped  together  over  the  tiller-ropes. 

She  does  as  he  bids  her  :  quickly,  with  a  startled 
movement,  as  if  surprised  by  his  words,  his  use  of 
her  name,  or  by  his  touch.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  she 
asks,  drawing  away  her  hands.  "  Why  can  I  not 
listen  without  looking  at  you?  " 

But  nevertheless  she  looks,  and  there  is  some- 
thing in  his  face  that  puzzles  her. 


PILOT  FORTUSK. 


11 


Suddenly  she  drops  her  oyelid.s,  with  a  shy  lit- 
tlo  motion  of  withdniwino-  herself  as  nuu^h  us  pos- 
sible from  him  ;  und  begins  to  play  nervously  with 
the  ropes. 

Uriiuhart  smiles.  "You  liavc  guessed  before 
row  that  I  lovo  you?  "  he  says.  "  You  have  known 
what  has  kept  me  here  so  h)ng  ?  " 

''  You  said  it  was  the  fishing,  and  I  believed  you. 
You  gave  nuiny  reasons  for  your  staying,"  answers 
Milieent,  confining  herself  to  the  hist  question. 

"  A  good  many  excuses.  I  have  had  really  but 
the  one  reason  for  lingering.  You  are  not  angry 
with  me  for  loving  you  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Not  angry  ;  but  it  is  very  silly,"  she  answers, 
with  a  vexed  movement  of  her  shoulders.  "  We 
were  getting  on  so  much  better  together,  and  I  had 
really  begun  to  like  you." 

"  That  is  exactly  what  I  do  not  wish  you  to  do," 
says  Urquhart,  coolly.  "  I  have  no  desire  that  you 
should  get  into  the  way  of  thinking  of  me  as  you 
do  of  Stephen.  It  may  please  him,  but  it  would 
never  satisfy  me." 

"  You  don't  suppose  I  shall  ever  think  of  any 
one  as  I  do  of  Stephen  ?  "  asks  Milieent,  flushing 
with  anger  at  Urquhart's  audacity. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  hint  that  there  is  anything  be- 
tween you,  —  that  you  are  engaged  to  him  ?  "  asks 
Urquhart,  quickly. 

"  There  is  not  a  thing  between  us,"  she  answers 
very  decidedly,  yet  at  the  same  time  looking  away 
from  him. 

"  I  know  very  well  that  the  poor  fellow  is  in 


I 


78 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


l]i 


love,"  Urquhart  goes  on  to  say.  "  I  could  guess 
it,  if  it  were  only  from  his  jealousy  of  me.  I  don't 
mention  it  from  vanity,  so  you  need  not  be  indig- 
nant"—  for  Milicent  has  made  an  impatient  mo- 
tion with  her  hands,  as  if  to  stop  him.  "  If  he  is 
not  jealous,  why  does  he  always  go  away  when  I 
come  near  you  :  or,  if  he  can't  get  off,  grow  so  si- 
lent and  reserved  ?  " 

"I  never  notice  that  he  does,"  answers  Mili- 
cent, slowly  drawing  the  rope  through  her  fingers. 

"  He  does,  nevertheless.  Poor  Stephen  !  it  does 
seem  hard  ihci*.  all  his  sudden  changes  of  manner, 
all  his  heats  and  cold,  should  not  even  be  noticed. 
Verily,  you  women  are  cruel !  " 

"Not  intentionally  so,  if  you  are  thinking  of 
Stephen.  I  would  put  my  eyes  out  with  my  own 
hands,  rather  than  see  him  hurt  or  offended  by  any 
act  of  mine,"  the  girl  says  quickly. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  not  noticed  him,  then  :  and 
I  shall  certainly  not  enlighten  you  any  more  on  the 
subject,  for  your  eyes  are  rather  an  important  fea- 
ture in  your  face,  as  they  are  very  apt  to  tell  more 
than  your  lips.  Will  you  not  look  at  me,  then,  and 
tell  me  it  is  not  impossible  for  you  to  love  me  ? 
I  will  promise  to  do  my  best  to  make  you  happy." 

"  That  would  not  be  so  very  difficult,"  answers 
Milicent,  not  by  any  means  intending  to  be  hum- 
ble, but  only  honest.  "  I  have  had  so  few  good 
things  in  life,  a  very  little  would  suffice  to  make 
me  happy." 

"  If  you  would  only  let  me  hold  your  future  in 
my  hands,   Milicent,  I   would   make   it  a  perfect 


I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


79 


holiday  for  you.  My  poor  child,  do  you  think  I 
have  loved  you  all  these  weeks,  and  have  not  dis- 
covered what  tries  and  teases  you  ?  You  need  not 
be  frightened ;  there  is  nothing  that  is  not  natural 
in  your  discontent,"  Urquhart  adds,  laughing ;  for 
Milicent  has  turned  to  him  with  surprise  in  her 
face. 

"  What  could  you  make  out  of  my  future  ? " 
she  asks,  with  girlish  curiosity. 

"  First,  you  must  promise  to  marry  me  ;  I  must 
have  you  for  my  very  own,  before  I  can  bring  you 
all  I  would.  After  that,  we  should  take  a  longer 
sail  than  you  have  ever  had  in  your  life,  for  we 
should  cross  the  Atlantic." 

"  Sail  away,"  she  says,  under  her  breath,  —  "  sail 
a.vuy,  out  of  the  past  into  the  future !  Leave  every- 
thing behind  us !  " 

Her  tone  is  wistful,  not  regretful:  so  wistful, 
that  Urquhart  says  eagerly,  her  words  being  the 
echo  of  his  own  wishes,  — 

"  Sail  away,  out  of  the  past  into  the  future  ;  for 
what  will  anything  that  lies  behind  matter  to  us  ? 
We  will  begin  a  new  life  in  the  Old  World  which 
is  the  new." 

Her  questioning  eyes  are  on  his,  for  all  the 
blushing  color  in  her  face. 

"You  should  see  Paris,  the  good  American's 
paradise,"  he  goes  on,  coming  down  to  details  as  he 
fills  in  the  sketch  in  his  own  mind,  "  and  London, 
if  you  cared  to  '  go  home,'  as  you  province  people 
say.  But  my  chief  delight  would  be  to  have  you  to 
myself  in  some  of  those  quaint  old  southern  towns 


If  I 


li 


'-   M 


80 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


on  the  seashore,  where  we  could  live  unmolested 
by  acquaintances,  and  could  be  as  much  on  the 
water  as  we  chose." 

Urquhart  is  waxing  eloquent,  for  he  is  building 
up  in  words  some  of  his  castles  projected  in  the 
air,  which  have  heretofore  seemed  rather  vague, 
but  to  which  speech  gives  substance.     In  a  dreamy 
way,  Milicent  is  listening ;  the  thought  that  here 
is  her  escape  comes  bewilderingly.     Just  here  is 
a  turn  in  the  dreary  road  which  only  an  hour  ao'o 
appeared    to   stretch   out   before   her    inimitably. 
Once  beyond  that  turn,  and  what  can  the  past  be 
to  her  or  to  Urquhart  ?     With   Steplien,  it  would 
have  been  different,  of  course ;  his  life  lies  here 
upon  this  island  :  and  here  there  could  be  no  gulf 
fixed  between  the  past  and  the  future,  if  she  were 
his  wife.     But  with  her  and  Urquhart,  what  lay 
behind  them  on  the  island  could  be  nothing, noth- 
ing at  all  to  either  of  them.     Having  come  to  the 
turn,  she  has  but  to  take  it,  to  find  the  past  break- 
ing sheer  off,  like  those  frowning  cliffs  she  is  now 
watching ;  and  the  wide  ocean  stretching  out  be- 
tween it  and  the  future.      And  what  a  future  Ur- 
quhart is  painting  for  her  admiration  and  approval ! 
An  eternal  holiday !     Whole  years  spent  in  travel- 
ing and  sight-seeing!     An  easy,  free  life,  leaving 
behind  all  cares,  all  anxieties  !    A  fairy-tale,  where, 
by  a  little  talisman  of  a  ring,  everything  necessary 
would  be  at  once  provided  ! 

Suddenly  Urquhart  stops  speaking,  in  evident 
chagrin.  As  no  response  has  reached  him,  he 
naturally  supposes  he  has  been  talking  to  deaf  ears. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


81 


Then  comes  the  thought  that  perhaps  he  has 
taken  her  too  much  l.y  surprise  ;  or  that  she  is  too 
shy  to  give  hun  an  f'nswer. 

But  Milicent  seems  neither  shy  nor  frightened  • 
only  hfts  to  him  eyes  like  a  child's  opening  in  the 
midst  of  a  dream. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  says,  "that  what  you  tell 
me  sounds  like  a  fairy-tale  to  me?  You  offer  me 
much  wonderful  happiness,  _  and  I  have  nothing 
to  give  you  in  return,"  she  adds  wistfully,  looking 
at  him  as  the  enchanted  maiden  out  of  the  fair/- 
tale  might  have  looked  at  the  prince  who  came  to 
set  her  free. 

^    And  in  truth  he  is  as  handsome  as  the  prir.-^ 
in  the  fairy-tale  ;   with  some  new  glamour  iv  ]  j 
eyes,  as   they  hold   her  own.      Or   is  it  that  .ne 
golden  haze    from  off   the  sea  is   blinding  hers"? 
Ihey  fall  before  his,  —  and  he  is  saying  eagerly,  — 
"You  can  give  me  yourself,    Milicent.      That 
would  be  untold  riches  to  me." 
^ilicent  laughs  saucily,  coming  back  to  herself. 
Then   I  will   be   liberal,   and   give   you   untold 
riches.     For  1  suppose  I  must  give  you  myself,  if 
you  marry  me." 

Urquhart  is  perplexed.     What  is  this  the  girl  is 
bestowing  so  carelessly  ? 

He  almost  shrinks  from  accepting  a  gift  she 
grants  so  easily. 

"  I  warn  you,  it  is  everything  I  have,  however," 
goes  on  Milicent,  without  a  pause.  "I  have  n't 
even  a  mat  of  my  own  hooking,  or  a  net  of  my  own 
making,  a  fisher-maiden's  proper  dower." 

6 


m 


82 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I 


"I  will  take  you  as  you  are,  and  not  quarrel 
with  my  bargain,"  says  Urquhart,  eagerly. 

^.rnP''*  ^  "''''*  ^'^'^  ^""^  ^^""S  to  it,  —  a  promise. 
Will  you  make  it?" 

"  A  dozen,  if  you  please." 

"  No,  I  wish  for  only  one ;  and  that  T  cannot 
thmk  will  be  a  difficult  one.  It  is  that  after  you 
take  me  away  from  here,  you  will  never  bring  me 
back  again." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  would  not  be  sorry  to  know 
that  you  would  never  return  here?  "  asks  Urquhart 
m  surprise.     "  I  confess  I  should  be  loath  to  say 
good-by  to  the  island  forever." 

"I  should  not,  in  the  least,"  replies  Milicent, 
with  much  decision  in  her  voice.  "  Perhaps  some 
day,  when  1  am  quite  old,  I  should  not  mind  -.3- 
turning ;  for  then  I  fancy  one  ceases  to  care  for 
anything  very  much." 

''  If  I  must  wait  until  you  are  old,  I  too  shall 
have  lost  all  desire  to  return,"  says  Urquhart, 
laughing.  "  That  will  be  an  immense  time,  unless 
you  take  to  gray  hairs  prematurely  :  which  I  warn 
you  I  do  not  intend  to  do." 

"  I  fancy  no  one  takes  kindly  to  old  age.  Why 
should  any  one  be  prematurely  old  ?  " 

"A  great  sorrow  might  make  one  so  or"  — 
stagnant,  une  entful  life,  Urquhart  is  going  to 
add:  but  he  remembers  h>w  very  monotonous  Mil- 
icent's  must  have  been,  and  she  has  certainly  pre- 
served her  juvenility. 

''Do  you  know,"  she  says,  not  noticing  his 
broken-off  sentence,    "I  have   never   been   away 


( 


i 


PILOT  FORTUNE,  g3 

from  here  since  I  was  a  very  smaU  child.    I  do  not 

remember  any  other  nlnoA      V  .   • 

^xij,  umer  place.     lou  cannot  imao-ine 

ot  lite,    iiut,    she  adds  anxiously,  "  can  you  reallv 

things  you  see,"  replies  Urquhart,  striving  to  look 

He  remembers  how  he  has  seen  her  count  over 
the  few  pen„.e.  received  as  change  when  Miss 
Ursula  has  sent  her  to  the  village  shop  for  a  necel 

sordid  cares,   and  she  will  thoroughly  eniov  the 

ux-rj^     He  looks  at  her  in  her  bfue  cotton  drtss 

and  the  coarse  hat  plaited   by  herself  from  the 

wheat-straw  she  has  gathered  in  Stephenneldt 

W.U  be  .npi^oved  by  the  accessories  of  dress  that 
g.rls  delight  in.  But  Urquhart  does  not  eare  to  teU 
these  thouo'hts  nf  !,;<.      n  i ,   . 

n,„,..„  1  ■      c      , .  ^'^  *'"^'l  '«^™  Milicent 

mairy  him  for  himself,  not  for  his  money     He 

would  no  more  have  cn^nfessed  the  state  ;f  S 
fiuax.es  than  he  would  have  told  her  how  often 
he  had  determined  it  was  better  for  him  to  ™  away 
silenty,  never  telliiig  ber  he  eared  forhe^:  ZIl 
a  half  hour  a-  this  briUiant  scheme  of  takin- 
W  abroad  fi..h.,„po„h,„.     He  is  a  seS 

Us  "  sf    ;"'  .""^r'"'"''  ""^  --»-ed!t,  by 
i»s     set.     He  is  willing  to  give  „p  country  and 


84 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


IS 


friends  for  his  young  love;  he  is  not  willing  to 
take  her,  in  all  her  ignorance  and  girlish  down- 
rightness,  into  what  he  calls  his  world.  But  now 
he  has  hit  upon  a  plan  which  will  leave  her  un- 
trammeled  for  a  time,  and  unconsciously  to  herself 
break  her  into  the  wnys  of  the  world. 

Having  to  capture  his  bird  warily,  Urquhart's 
love-making  must  be  rather  cool.  It  seems  almost 
a  bargain  between  them ;  though  this  is  very  far 
from  his  thoughts.  That  she  should  be  willing  to 
leave  everything  she  is  used  to,  and  go  where  he 
chooses  to  take  her,  has,  it  must  be  confessed,  the 
appearance  of  great  devotion  on  the  child's  part. 
Thus  he  never  thinks  that  if  he  had  offered  to 
marry  her,  and  take  her  some  few  miles  away  to 
live,  she  would  certainly  have  refused  him. 

"  Milicent,"  he  says  suddenly,  looking  into  her 
dreamy  face,  "do  you  know  you  have  not  once 
said  that  you  loved  me  ?  " 

"  I  would  never  have  promised  to  marry  you  if 
I  disliked  you,"  she  answers,  with  an  expressive 
little  shrujx. 

"  But  I  want  more  than  an  assurance  that  you 
do  not  dislike  me." 

"  Very  well,  I  will  give  you  more  ;  I  like  you." 

"  Like  is  not  love,"  says  Urquhart,  sententiously, 
at  the  same  time  not  looking  well  pleased. 

Milicent  opens  her  eyes  vejy  wide  as  she  lifts 
them  to  him.  She  never  told  Stephen  that  she 
more  than  liked  him  ;  and  yet  he  had  been  con- 
tent to  marry  her  on  such  an  admission.  Why 
should    Urquhart  wish   for   more    than    satisfied 


"il 


iM 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


85 


Stephen  ?     Is  it  something  so  very  much  to  be  de- 
sired, this  love  ? 

"  What  is  it  to  love  ?  "  she  asks,  gentlv.  "  I  wiU 
do  my  best  to  learn,  if  you  will  only  teach  me." 

x\nd  Urquhart  is  charmed  with  the  ingenuous 
promise.  It  seems  just  now  the  sweetest  pastime 
m  the  world,  to  teach  this  fresh  young  heart  to 
love. 

Love  can  certainly  grow  from  as  small  a  seed  as 
faith :  the  germ  is  there,  Urquhart  is  very  sure, 
and  there  would  need  but  a  little  cultivation  to  root 
It  well  and  strongly.  Tlie  sweet  flowers  and  fruit 
would  be  for  his  own  gathering,  in  that  fool's  par- 
adise he  has  now  fairly  entered. 

They  can  feel  the  keel  grating  softly  on  the 
strand.  The  tide  has  been  more  watchfid  than 
they,  and  has  floated  them  into  Green  Cove,  safe 
past  the  rocks  on  either  hand.  They  have  reached 
the  land  sooner  than  Urquhart  expected ;  and  twi- 
light has  so  nearly  faded  into  night,  that  he  can- 
not  very  well  propose  pushing  out  again  on  the 
water. 

After  all,  he  is  very  well  content  with  his  even- 
ing row.  He  has  gotten  rid  of  the  constant  strug- 
gle with  himself  to  keep  silent :  which,  whenever  he 
was  alone  with  Milicent,  he  was  not  at  all  inclined 
to  do  ,  so  that  now  that  he  has  committed  himself 
without  recall,  it  is  a  great  relief.  And  Milicent 
has  promised  to  marry  him. 

When  the  boat  is  beached,  Milicent  would  have 
sprung  out  on  the  shingle  without  assistance,  as  is 
her  wont.     But  Urquhart  takes  her  in  his  arms 


86 


]':        M 


1 


\i 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


and  lifts  her,  leaving  a  liglit  kiss  on  her  cheek  as 
he  does  so.  She  is  frio-ljtened  and  angry.  "  How 
dare  you !  "  slie  exclaims,  blushing  furiously,  and 
struggling  to  free  herself. 

Urqnh.-irt  is  half  amused,  and  a  little  angry. 

"  I  tlioiight  I  had  won  as  much  right  "as  that 
when  you  promised  to  marry  me,"  he  says  coolly,' 
as  he  releases  her. 

"  You  ought  to  have  asked  a  fisher-girl  in  your 
own  country  to  marry  you,"  answers  Milicent, 
scornfully.     "  It  may  be  a  fashion  with  them." 

"  I  thouglit  it  was  the  fashion  with  all  lovers," 
Urquhart  says,  not  able  to  restrain  a  laugh  at  her 
vehemence,  '•  but  I  promise  not  to  offend  again. 
Ihe  next  time  I  will  wait  to  be  asked." 

Milicent  makes  no  answer,  but  turns  and  walks 
away.     Urquhart  cannot  follow  her  at  once,  as  the 
boat  is  not  fastened,  and  he  must  not  let  the  tide 
float  it  away.     He  is  sure  Milicent  will  be  at  the 
house  before  he  can  secure  it  properly  ;  but  he  is 
determined  not  to  call  out  to  her  to  wait  ror  him, 
and  also  determined  not  to  hasten  his  movements. ' 
He  regrets  this  loitering,  howex-er,  when  he  finds 
her  waiting  for  him  where  the  path  to  the  house 
turns  off  from  the  cliff.     Perhaps  her  ire  has  had 
tmie  to  cool,  and  she  thinks  it  just  as  well  not  to 
quarrel  outright,  the  very  first  hour  of  their  en- 
gagement.    If  she  does,  Urquhart  agrees  with  her  • 
the  rather,  as  he  looks  at  her  shv,  blushing  face. 
^    '^  I  wonder  if  Miss  Ursula  will  see  me  this  even- 
iDg?"  he  asks,  thinking  it  would  be  wise  to  have 
all  prelimmary  ceremonies  over. 


I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


87 


>) 


No    certainly  n„t,"  answers  Milicent,  hastily. 
It  IS  far  too  late.     Aunt  Ursula  never  will  see 
any  one  after  dark,  and  especially  a  stranger." 

Jiut  that  is  just  what  I  wish  to  tell  her  I  am 
not      say.   Urquhart,  laughing.     "  Hereafter  she 
will  have  to  consider  me  a  part  of   her  family. 
You  don  t   think  she  will  make  anj   objection  to 
our  engagement  ?  "  he  asks  a  little  anxiously. 
^^  Objection  ;  Of  course  not.    Why  should  she  ■' " 
I  ain  rejoiced  you  have  no  father  to  be  ..eti- 
tioned;  I  begm  to  feel  a  little  nervous  at  my  ex- 
pected  interview  with  your  aunt.     It  is  soin.wh.at 
presumptuous    to   ask   a   man   for   his    daughter. 
Aunts,  I  fancy,  do  not  see  it  in  tlie  same  light ;  all 
women  being  tender  towards  a  love-affair." 

"  I  do  not  ree  what  concern  it  is  to  a  father  any 
more  than  to  an  aunt,  if  the  girl  herself  wishes  it- 
answers  Mihcent,  shortly. 

"  Unfortunately,  the  father  is  not  also  in  love  • 
and  men  a.;e  more  apt  to  go  into  particulars  tha.; 

UrsX"  ""'  """''  ^''"'  "^  ^''''^^^'"S  Miss 

sc3"  "''';l.f  ™  y°'"'^«"  "o  trouble  on  that 
scoie  says  Mibcent,  with  decision.  "  I  shall  tell 
Aunt  Ursula  we  are  engaged,  and  that  will  be  all 
that  IS  necessary.  I  am  not  going  to  ask  you  in 
to^igh  "  she  adds;  for  they  have  reached  the 
gate.        lo-morrow  you  may  come  " 

Though  thus  dismissed,  Urquhait  still  lingers, 

eave-takiiig   being  always  a  pleasant   pain  to  a 

lover.    When  at  last  he  is  gone,  Milicent,  as  usual, 

passes  round  to  the  door  of  the  kitchen  (the  hall 


Iff 


88 


riLOT  Fo/i/rNj-: 


■^sl 


in  front  of  t]w  h 


oimc  IS 


never  liglited  artificially), 


whore  she  finds  Miss  Ursul 

A  small  oil  lanij)  does  the  whoh^  duty  of  illumi- 
natino-  the  oivat  bare  room,  for  tlu^  summer  firo 
of  small  wood  barely  suece(uls  in  eookincr  the  ])an 
of  fish  upon  it.  A  tal)le  near  the  centre  of  the 
room  hohls  a  dish,  on  which  Miss  Ursula  is  i)ilincr 
some  ))aked  ])otatoes ;  and  ji  j)itcher  of  buttermilk, 
fiankinjr  it,  adds  to  the  sug^restion  that  there  is  a 
meal  to  bo  partaken  of. 

*'  Have  you  had  tea  yet  ?  "  asks  Mill  -cnt's  clear 
yonnrr  voice,  as  she  enters  the  room. 

''  What  is  the  use  in  having-  tea  when  there  is 
no  one  to  cat  it  ?  I  do  not  know  at  what  hour  you 
will  be  coming  in,  after  a  while,"  answers  Miss 
Ursula,  feeling  the  just  irritation  which  irregu- 
larity causes  the  housekeejier. 

''  Let  me  turn  the  fish  for  you,"  projioses  Mili- 
cent,  seeing  ]\liss  Ursula  moving  towards  the  fire 
for  the  i)urpose.  "  I  have  been  out  on  the  water, 
and  did  not  know  how  late  it  was." 

"  It  is  no  hour  for  you  to  be  on  the  water,"  re- 
turns Miss  Ursnla,  not  ofi'eriug  to  relinquish  the 
cooking  of  the  fish. 

"  It  is  darker  in  here  than  it  is  out-of-doors,  so 
it  seems  later  than  it  really  is,"  says  Milicent,  with 
one  of  her  im]>atient  shrugs.  "Aunt  Ursula,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you  that  perhaps  you  will 
be  glad  to  hear.  Mr.  Urquhart  wishes  to  marry 
me,  and  I  have  promised  "  — 

She  stops :  it  is  not  easy  to  go  on,  with  Miss  Ursu- 
la's back  to  her,  and  no  sign  that  she  is  listened  to. 


I 


PILOT  FOliTlJNK. 


89 


Thero  is  a  pauHo,  until  hor  aunt  breaks  it  aa 
coolly  as  if  tlu-  suhjct  in  Iijind  wtnc  (luite  a  niatt.^r 
in  tlie  abstract :  — 

"  llow  many  nenf  dm  i.,gs  wo  niaki^  of  tho  lives 
of  others,  only  I  .c  diu  jM'ncil  taken  out  of  our 
hands,  for  them  to  make  sueh  serawls  for  them- 
selves  as  nny  child  minht  hv  a.shanied  of  !  " 

"  Yes,  »  It  wait  until  you  hoar  the  end.  We  are 
to  go  abroad,  and  not  return  until  1  wish  to." 

Miss  Ursula  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  fish: 
but  instead,  she  turns  lusrsolf  to  h)ok  at  Milioont, 
who  certainly  apiH";  .ery  well  satisfied  \ni\i  the 
news  she  has  f;iven. 

"  Was  it  anything  yon  told  1  ini  that  made  him 
offer  to  take  you  abroad?"  asks  Miss  Ursula, 
sharply. 

"  Certainly  not,"  answers  Milicent,  coldly.  '^  It 
was  his  own  proposition.  I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  He  wishes  to  hide  you,  until  he 
is  not  ashamed  of  you.  A  Parisian  modiste  and 
traveling:  both  will  be  vastly  improving  to  you,  no 
doubt." 

"  Do  you  blame  him  for  his  desire  to  make  me 
presentable?  I  do  not,  if  it  will  spare  me  dis- 
comfort or  humiliation,"  replies  Milicent,  quite 
calmly. 

"  Or  save  himself,"  suggests  Miss  Ursula.  "  Men 
are  much  more  apt  to  think  of  their  own  sensations 
than  of  others'." 

And  then  she  adds,  as  if  to  dismiss  the  subject 
altogether,  "  Stephen  was  here  this  evening.     He 


;i^ 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1.0 


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1.25 


1^128 

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2.5 

IM 
1-4    11111,6 


V 


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-'c^l 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


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90 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


V  'It 


seemed  sor^y  to  „iss  seeing  you.  What  fools  we 
Zld !  "  ""  '"''  "'"'"  '^"y*''-"^"  '"  this  fickle 
Milicent  turns  to  Miss  Ursula,  with  a  troubled 
look  in  her  eyes;  but  just  then  there  comerthe 
sound  of  a  man's  footstep  outside  the  door  "  ll 
not  want  anything  for  tea  but  this,"  says  Milieent 
helpmg  herself  from  the  dish  of  potatol.  "  I^ ,' 
Aunt  Urada,  if  y„u  will  tell  him  "  _ 

There  is  a  marked  sound  of  entreaty  in  Mili- 
een  s  vo.ce;  and  she  leaves  the  kitchen  hastily^ 

ner  appetite ;  for  she  gropes  her  way  to  the  front 

sel'or  tt  T  "=''™r"*^''  ^I'»*'  -<>'  ^ 
seat  on  the  steps,  eats  her  unsavory  supper   and 

seems  o  enjoy  it,  though  she  has  not  brouX  J 
gram  o  salt  to  season  it.  Then  she  rests  her  head 
on  her  lap,  as  a  sleepy,  tired  child  might  do  and 
faUs  mto  cogitation.  ^  '    "'' 

Her   first   thought  is  of   reoTot .    G*„„i. 

Lrquhart  ?  -Would  it  not  be  far  better  for  him 
-n  the  end  if  she  went  away  ?  He  would  be  s^e' 
to  forget  her  the  sooner,  if  he  could  not  see  C 
everyday;  and  she  couH  „„t  possibly  leave  un 
less  she  married  Urquhart.  xliis  is  rather  wM 
reasoning  on  Milicent's  part.  Certainly  s  ,e  h" 
lost  sight  of  her  own  dread,  -that  St^h  n,  for 


^- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


91 


getting  her,  might  one  clay  bring  a  wife  to  the 
home  which  was  to  have  been  her  own. 

For  some  time  Milieent  sits  on  the  doorstep, 
with  bowed  head,  not  thinking  of  Urquhart,  but 
of  Steplien.     What  will  Stephen  say  "? 

She  is  so  in  the  habit  of  going  to  him  to  have 
all  doubts  and  difficulties  solved,  that  it  never  oc- 
curs to  her  that  some  decisions  must  necessarily 
be  terrible  tests  of  honesty  and  unselfish  love,  and 
tnerefore  burdens  never  to  be  shifted  from  our  own 
shoulders. 

^  When  she  rises  at  last,  and  goes  up-stairs  to 

11.  ifo  ''''"'^  *"  ^  '*"^"^^  conclusion:  she 
will  tell  Stephen  of  this  new  phase  of  her  life  of 
what  Urquhart  has  offered  her :  and  if  he  desires 
she  will  break  her  engagement.  So  much  she 
owes  her  old  friend  and  playmate  :  if  she  does  not 
marry  him  she  wiU  not  marry  any  one  else  against 
Ills  wil  .  He  might  never  know  half  the  sacrifice 
she  makes :  her  wish  is  to  spare  him  aU  the  pain 
she  can ;  her  determination,  that  he  shaU  decide 
now  she  can  best  do  it. 

Having  come  to  this  childish  conclusion,  she 
goes  to  her  room,  and  presently  falls  into  a  dream- 
less  slumber,  with  no  visions  of  either  lover. 

Youth  and  old  age  are  said  to  touch  each  other 
and  m  nothing  is  their  contiguity  so  plainly  shown' 
as  in  the  ability  they  share,  of  falling  into  an  un- 
troubled sleep  over  their  perplexities  and  griefs. 
An  old  man  shuts  his  eyes  on  an  intrusive  thought, 
and  forgets  it;  a  child  -  and  Milieent  is  hardly 
more  —  will  cry  itself  into  a  smiling  slumber. 


VI. 


"  Let  us  make  no  claim, 
On  life's  incognizable  sea, 


B"    i! 


To  too  exact  a  steering  of  our  way, 

If  some  fair  coast  has  lured  us  to  make  stay." 

While  Milicent,  on  the  doorstep  of  the  old 
gray  house,  with  h(3r  face  hidden  from  the  starlight, 
turned  her  thoughts  away  from  the  bright  future 
Urquhart  had  pictured  to  her,  and  took  her  resolu- 
tion that  Stephen  should  be  the  arbiter  of  her 
fate,  Stephen,  seated  on  his  porch,  smoked  his 
evening  pipe,  trying  to  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the 
scene;  and  then  he  went  over  his  work  w  the 
morrow,  planning  what  he  should  set  his  laborers 
to  do.  But  all  the  while,  Milicent's  face  was  be- 
fore him.  She  would  never  sit  beside  him  on  the 
porch,  listening  to  plans  and  hopes  for  their  future, 
as  she  so  long  led  him  to  believe  she  would. 

Stephen  had  gone  over  to  the  old  house  that 
afternoon,  as  soon  as  he  returned  home.  He  had 
been  called  away  suddenly  upon  business  ;  and  as 
he  had  had  no  opportunity  to  see  her  before  he 
left,  he  thought  she  might  be  curious  to  know  the 
reason  of  his  absence.  It  was  a  hard  task  he  had 
set  himself,  —  that  of  an  attentive  friend,  where  he 
had  been  the  ardent  lover. 

Not  finding  Milicent  outside  the  house,  he  had 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


98 


gone  to  the  kitchen  in  search  of  Miss  Ursula. 
As  usual,  she  was  busy  in  some  menial  employ- 
ment. She  seemed  to  have  a  knack  of  discovering 
disagreeable  drudgery,  which,  if  she  had  been  a 
believer  in  the  sacrament  of  penance,  one  might 
suppose  she  was  using  to  help  her  heavenward. 

"Is  Milly  at  home.  Miss  Ursula ? "  he  asked, 
after  bidding  her  good-evening.  He  did  not  apol- 
ogize for  interrupting  her :  which  in  point  of  fact 
he  did  not,  for  she  went  on  with  her  homely  work. 

"No,  I  have  not  seen  her  since  dinner.  I 
thought  she  had  gone  to  the  cottage." 

"She  did  not  leave  any  message,  if  she  did. 
I  hope  she  was  not  disappointed  by  not  finding 
me." 

"  I  cannot  say.  It  is  difficult  to  know  what 
pleases  her.  She  needs  looking  after ;  but  she 
will  not  bear  it  froru  me,  and  there  is  no  one  else 
who  will  interfere  with  her.  The  young  must  al- 
ways go  their  own  gait,  and  think  they  see  the 
road  to  its  ending ;  and  when  they  stumble,  they 
blame  the  road,  and  not  their  recklessness.  There 
is  no  use  in  my  crying  a  warning.  But  I  did  hope 
you  might  smooth  the  path  for  her  treading,  poor 
child,  and  not  give  her  up  so  easily." 

"  I,  Miss  Ursula  ?  I  never  gave  Milly  up.  She 
is  the  best  judge  of  what  she  wishes.  I  could 
never  have  forced  her  to  care  for  me,  by  keeping 
her  to  her  promise  to  marry  me.  I  do  not  see 
why  we  should  fear  evils  for  Milly :  she  is  young, 
and  life  may  have  many  good  things  in  store  for 
her,"  he  added,  hopefully. 


94 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


a 


'  If  she  would  only  be  contented,  and  not  strive 
to  grasp  more  than  she  can  hold.  A  safe  home  at 
the  cottage  is  what  I  have  long  wished  for  her." 

It  was  so  seldom  that  Miss  Ursula  expressed  in- 
terest in  Milicent  that  Stephen  was  surprised,  as 
well  as  touched.  He  might  have  asked  why  she 
felt  unusually  anxious  for  her  niece's  welfare,  not 
bemg  at  all  assured  how  far  she  was  in  the  girl's 
confidence  :  when  he  caught  sight  of  Thomas  com- 
ing  to  the  house. 

"Is  it  Milicent  you  are  looking  for?"  asked 
Thomas,  with  primitive  unceremoniousness,  which 
would  have  shocked  Urquhart,  but  from  custom 
had  no  such  effect  upon  Stephen.  "She  is  rowing 
on  the  bay  with  Urquhart.  She  ought  to  know  it 
is  too  late  to  be  out  with  a  stranger.*' 

Stephen  made  no  answer,  though  the  remark  was 
addressed  to  him.  Miss  Ursula  having  returned  to 
her  labor  inside  the  kitchen  as  soon  as  she  saw 
Thomas  approaching.    Stephen  did  not  care  to  dis- 
cuss Milicent  with  her  aunt's  fisherman :  who  was 
right,  however ;    for  as  Stephen  walked  home  by 
the  cliff,  he  saw  Urquhart's   boat  making  gr-  \ 
headway,  being  propelled  by  vigorous  strokes  from 
Its  owner's  oars.     Stephen  could  even  make  out, 
though  the  distance  was  great,  Milicent  sitting  in 
the  stern.     He  would  not  watch  them,  but  passed 
on  quickly.    But  just  as  he  reached  the  path  which 
led  into  his  own  field,  he  turned,  and  was  rewarded 
by  seeing  Urquhart  lay  down  his  oars,  and  striding 
over  the  bench,  take  his  seat  by  Milicent. 

It  was  a  little  hard  on   Stephen  to  have  their 


■l^^HI 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


95 


love-making    going  on   nnder   his   eyes.      Bitter 
enough  to  be  W.I  to  give  „p  the  hope  of  ev^r 
havmg  M.hcent  as  his  own  ;  but  to  give  it  up  to  a 
stranger,  who  had  not  known  her  as  many  wefks  as 
he  had  years,  was  adding  both  wormwood  and  gall. 
Miss  Ursula's  fear  for  Milicenfs  future  suddenly 
took  possession  of  Stephen.     How  were  they  to 
know  that  Urquhart  was  what  he  represented  him- 
seit./-a  gentleman   somewhat   daft  about  fish- 
ing. 

But  when  Stephen  ha<I  turned  his  baek  upon 

the  bay    and  could   no  longer  see  Milicent  and 

U  quhart  sitting  together,  he  knew  he  had  done 

Uiquhart  an  injustice.     There  was  nothing  in  the 

east  suspicious  about  him.     He  was  refined  and 

ab  e.     If  Mihcent  loved  the  man,  Stephen  could 
not  honestly  see  that  there  was  any  Oconto 

have  f,      7r  ^  ""'^  ^'"'"''  '^'  ««"M  P»««My 
have  found  to  her  marriage  with  himself;  -  this 

heart  for  the  handsome  stranger 

The  faee  of  much  in  life  looks  brighter  to  us  for 
eaving  the  night  behind,  and  letting  the  mornii^^ 

orwh  r"'  .  '  ""'y  *™^  ^'S^'  "P™  »-e  clew 
for  which  we  have  been  groping  in  the  dark,  to  un- 
ravel a  perplexity ;  or  it  may  show  us  there  are 
some  smooth  and  easy  reaches  in  the  steep  road  we 
have  been  fearing  over-night.  But  to  Stephen, 
who  haa  no  perplexity  left  to  unravel,  and  who 


Jl 


96 


lU 


m 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


knows  how  hard  and  unlovely  the  lonely  road 
must  stretch  up  to  the  very  end,  the  new  day 
means  merely  sunny  skies  that  seem  to  have  no 
sense  of  anything  going  wrong  just  under  them. 

The  sun,  —  who  is  always  in  haste  to  run  his 
course  on  a  summer  morning  in  the  north,  —  is 
pushing  level  beams  across  the  ripened  grass  in  the 
field  behind  the  cottage,  till  it  looks  a  golden-ruddy 
sunset  sea,  as  the  wind  tosses  and  ruffles  it  into 
mimic  waves ;  and  all  the  swaying  blades  that  have 
caught  and  still  hold  a  jewel  of  the  dew  flash  out, 
as  sown  with  gold  and  diamonds.  Schelierezade 
need  not  have  looked  over  the  sultan's  palace-gar- 
den wall  to  find  Aladdin's  jeweled  garden,  Mili- 
cent  is  thinking,  as  she  stands  in  the  road  close  to 
the  fence.  Stephen,  who  is  in  the  field  giving  di- 
rections to  the  mowers,  chances  to  turn,  and  sees 
her  standing  there. 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  ? "  he  asks,  going  to- 
wards her,  and  showing  his  anxiety  by  his  abrupt- 
ness.    "  It  is  an  early  hour  for  you  to  be  out." 

"No,  there  is  nothing  the  matter,  —  at  least, 
nothing  in  the  way  you  mean,"  she  replies  quietly. 
"  I  have  come  to  ask  you  what  to  do.  I  have  no 
one  else  in  the  world  to  go  to.  Besides,  you  prom- 
ised." 

"  I  will  help  you  all  I  can,  Milly ;  you  may  be 
sure  of  that,"  answers  Stephen,  cheerfully ;  though 
he  has  strong  previsions  as  to  the  matter  to  be  ad- 
vised upon.  She  would  never  have  come  to  him 
if  what  she  had  to  say  had  not  been  of  all  impor- 
tance to  her.      He  is   sure    Urquhart   has  asked 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


97 


her  to  marry  him,  and  she  is  a  little  fearful,  per- 
haps, of  saying  yes,  unless  some  one  sanctioned  it. 
It  does  not  even  seem  strange  or  out  of  the  way  that 
she  has  come  to  him.  Miss  Ursula  is  scarcely 
one  to  whom  a  girl  would  care  to  go  with  a  love- 
tale  :  and  Milicent  has  no  one  else  save  him.  There- 
fore he  is  bound  to  put  aside  all  thoughts  of  him- 
self, and  think  only  of  her  happiness.  He  never 
suspects  for  a  moment  what  her  errand  really  is, 
however. 

"  Aunt  Ursula  said  you  were  over  at  the  house 
last  night,"  begins  Milicent,  finding  it  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  broach  her  errand  as  abruptly  as  she  had 
intended. 

"  I  was  sorry  not  to  see  you,  for  Miss  Ursula 
seemed  to  think  you  started  to  come  here,"  answers 
Stephen,  never  hinting  that  he  had  seen  her  in  the 
boat  with  Urquhart.  She  should  tell  her  story  in 
her  own  way. 

"  Yes,  I  did  come  over :  but  not  to  see  you.  I 
knew  you  were  away.  I  met  Mr.  Urquhart  as  I 
went  home  by  the  beach,  and  he  asked  me  to  row 
with  him." 

It  is  so  quietly  said,  that  Stephen  begins  to  ac- 
cuse himself  of  unreasonable  jealousy :  when  Mil- 
icent adds,  in  her  downright  way,  coming  at  once 
to  the  point,  "He  — Mr.  Urquhart,  I  mean  — has 
asked  me  to  marry  him." 

"And  you  have  promised  you  would?"  asks 
Stephen,  a  little  sharply. 

"  Yes.  And  he  has  also  promised  to  take  me 
abroad  to  live,  and  not  to  bring  me  back  unless  I 
T 


^w= 


98 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


. 


m 


wish  to  come.     That  is  just  what  I  want  most," 
Milicent  adds,  still  keeping  to  facts. 

"  I  am  sorry  your  old  home  is  so  disagreeable  to 
you,  Milly,"  says  Stephen,  reproachfully  ;  and  yet 
he  half  fears  he  has  helped  to  make  it  uncomfort- 
able. 

"  It  is  not  on  your  account  that  I  wish  to  go," 
says  Milicent,  quickly  divining  his  thoughts. 
"There  are  some  things  at  home"— She  stops, 
looking  away  from  him. 

"  Were  these  things  your  only  reasons  for  prom- 
ising to  marry  Urquhart,  Milly?" 

"  They  were  some  of  my  reasons,"  —  slowly. 

"  But  not  all.     You  love  him,  Milly  ?  " 

She  does  not  answer  him  at  once,  though  her 
eyes  fall  under  his  gaze,  and  a  blush  comes  into 
her  face.  "  I  like  him,"  she  says  at  last,  finding 
Stephen  waiting  for  a  reply. 

"Z^^•e  him,  Milly?" 

"I  did  not  come  here  to  answer  such  questions, 
but  to  tell  you  "  —  begins  Milicent,  throwing  back 
her  head  with  an  impatient  gesture,  and  blushing 
hotly.  But  a  look  into  Stephen's  pale,  set  face 
stops  her. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  he  says  quietly.  "  You  prom- 
ised to  tell  me  if  you  were  going  away.  Is  it  to  be 
so  soon  ?  Are  you  in  such  haste  to  go  ?  "  he  adds 
bitterly,  though  he  is  trying  not  to  show  he  feels  it. 

"  I  did  not  come  over  to  tell  you  what  you  might 
hear  soon  enough.  What  I  came  to  say  was  that, 
though  I  —  what  do  they  call  it  when  a  girl  prom- 
ises to  marry  ?    Engaged  ?  —  I  engaged  myself  to 


I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


99 


j» 


Mr.  Urquhart  last  evening,  I  am  ready  to  take 
back  my  word  if  you  wish.  I  haven't  forgotten 
all  you  have  been  to  me,  nor  all  I  owe  you.  And 
though  I  cannot  marry  you,  I  '11  not  marry  any 
other,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to." 

"  I  cannot  be  happy  if  I  know  you  are  not,"  she 
goes  on  hastily,  finding  she  gets  no  answer.  "  I  am 
not  altogether  selfish,  though  Aunt  Ursula  says  I 
am  ;  so  if  you  will  only  say  what  you  would  rather 
I  'd  do,  I  will  abide  by  it." 

"  Is  Urquhart's  love  so  little  to  you,  Milly,  that 
you  could  give  him  up  for  a  wish  of  mine  ?  "  asks 
Stephen,  hurriedly. 

"  Stephen,"  she  says,  looking  up  at  him,  her 
eyes  glistening  with  unshed  tears,  "  I  cannot  bear 
to  do  anything  that  displeases  you,  or  makes  your 
life  a  bit  more  lonely.  I  would  rather  you  should 
decide  what  I  shall  do." 

Milicent  must  have  understood  \ery  little  of  the 
love  Stephen  feels  for  her.  She  may  have  thought 
it  made  up  of  the  same  stuff  as  her  own  :  a  mixture 
of  a  child's  trusting  affection  and  a  girl's  friend- 
ship. She  could  not  have  dreamed  how  he  has 
longed  for  her,  how  he  has  suffered  when  forced  to 
give  her  up.  If  she  had,  she  might  have  shrunk 
from  putting  her  fate  so  completely  in  his  power. 

And  yet  her  instinct  is  not  at  fault.  She  stands 
awaiting  his  decision  as  she  has  a  dozen  times  be- 
fore in  her  life :  though  never,  perhaps,  with  the 
same  anxiety. 

There  could  be  nothing  quieter  nor  calmer  than 
the  two  appear.    A  passer-by  might  have  imagined 


I 


100 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


they  were  discussing  the  veriest  trifle,  — that  is,  if 
he  thought  of  anything  but  the  pretty  picture  Mil- 
icent  makes  as  she  stands  there  on  the  road,  her 
arms  resting  carelessly  on  the  toj^rail  of  the  fence, 
her  voice  lowered  to  a  subdued  tone,  not  to  be  ovei 
heard  by  the  laborer  mowing  the  small  hay-field 
but  a  few  feet  from  them  ;  while  Stephen,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fence,  is  seemingly  intent  on  dig- 
ging a  hole  with  the  end  of  his  stout  walking-stick. 
Alas  for  Stephen  I  He  is  digging  nuich  more  than 
that  useless  hole  ;  for  is  he  not  burying  out  of  sight 
his  last  hope  of  making  Milicent  his  wife  ? 

She  has  not  asked  him  to  decide  which  is  best 
for  her,  but  for  himself  ;  not  for  her  happiness  and 
content,  but  for  his  own.  He  cannot  guess  what 
her  sacrifice  might  be,  though  he  knows  very  well 
what  is  his  own.  And  so  he  puts  into  one  grave 
his  hope  and  his  temptation. 

"  I  must  not  decide  this  for  you,  Milly,"  he  says, 

at  last.     "  You  can  tell  much  better  than  I,  what 

would  be  for  your  happiness.     It  ought  not  to  be 

any  harder  on  me  to  see  you  Urquhart's  wife  than 

to  know  you  can't  be  mine.     So  if  it  is  only  of  me 

you  are  thinking,  be  very  sure  that  whatever  will 

make  you  happy  I  '11  like  best.     Only,  Milly,"  he 

adds,  seeing  she  has  taken  her  arms  from  the  fence, 

making  a  slight  movement  as  if  she  had  received 

her  answer  and  was  preparing  to  go,  "  don't  marry 

Urquhart  unless  you  are  very  sure  you  love  him. 

It  is  hard  lines  for  a  girl  to  be  married,  unless  she 

has  the  sort  of  love  that  makes  her  feel  all  burdens 

light,  in  comparison  with  the  chance  only  of  losing 

her  lover." 


pn  -yr  fortune. 


101 


"I'll  mind,  Stophen,"  Milicent  promises.  "I 
suppose  all  lives  have  tiieir  troubles  ;  only  some 
are  harder  to  bear  than  others.  I  shall  always 
have  one,"  she  adds,  sorrowfully,  "go  v*here  I  will, 
and  livft  as  happily  as  I  may :  and  that  is,  that  I 
seem  to  have  hurt  your  life.  There  may  come  a 
day  when  you  may  see  it  all  differently,  and  know 
I  did  you  a  kindness  in  not  coming  here  to  live." 

"  I  doubt  if  that  day  ever  comes,"  answers 
Stephen,  quickly ;  then  gently,  "  Milly,  you  must 
look  upon  me  as  a  brother  now ;  and  if  you  need 
help,  you  must  promise  to  come  to  me  as  you  have 
to-day." 

"  I  have  promised  that  once  before,"  replies  Mili- 
cent, without  hesitation.  "  I  shall  never  depend  on 
any  one  as  I  do  on  you  ;  so  if  ever  I  have  need  of 
help,  I  will  be  sure  to  come  to  you." 

"  You  will  depend  on  Urquhart.  I  did  not  mean 
to  put  myself  before  him.  But  brothers,  you  know, 
can  often  do  what  lovers  would  like,  but  cannot." 

*'  I  understand  you,"  says  Milicent,  reaching  out 
her  hand  over  the  fence  to  bid  him  good-by. 

"  Shall  I  not  walk  home  with  you?  "  asks  Ste- 
phen. 

"No,  I  had  better  go  alone.  Your  breakfast 
must  be  ready  by  this  time.  I  did  not  come  to  be 
unnecessarily  troublesome." 

Stephen  is  about  to  tell  her  she  could  never  be 
troublesome  to  him ;  when  he  -  miembers  she  is  Ur- 
quhart's  betrothed,  and  it  would  be  better  for  him 
not  to  show  her  even  those  small  attentions  she  has 
long  been  accustomed  to,  from  him.     She  might 


102 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


meet  Urquhart  on  her  way  home,  and  neither 
would  care  for  a  third  party.  He  must  learn  to 
think  of  her  as  belonging  to  another  man ;  and  of 
himself  as  no  longer  necessary  to  her. 

So  Milicent  sets  out  for  home  alone,  ca ikying 
with  her  a  much  lighter  heart  than  she  brought. 
She  is  glad  Stephen  hag  not  asked  her  to  give  up 
Urquhart.  It  is  much  better  for  Stephen  that  she 
should  be  away :  and  it  is  ten  times  better  for  her- 
self. To  spend  the  rest  of  her  life  as  a  holiday, 
going  where  she  pleases,  —  that  is  something,  cer- 
tainly, to  look  forward  to.  Oh,  yes,  she  is  very 
glad  Stephen  has  not  asked  her  to  stay  in  the  old 
house,  that  looks  more  like  a  great  prison  than 
ever,  in  this  morning  sunshine. 

She  turns  her  back  upon  it,  when  she  has  passed 
within  her  own  gate,  leaning  on  the  ;;opmost  bar, 
and  thinking  all  these  thoughts.  Miss  Ursula's 
voice  soon  brings  her  out  of  them  ;  but  later  in 
the  day,  when  all  that  tiresome  stitching,  stitching 
is  over,  she  is  there  again,  in  the  same  attitude. 
Thinking,  —  or  perhaps  she  is  dreaming  so  ;  for  she 
starts  as  one  suddenly  awakened,  when  Urquhart 
finds  her  there. 

She  says  nothing  to  him  of  her  early  walk  ;  so 
he  has  not  the  mortification  of  knowing  that 
Stephen  has  been  the  arbiter  of  his  fate,  —  Stephen, 
who,  he  is  sure,  knows  much  more  of  the  raising  of 
potatoes,  or  the  market  value  of  cod-fish,  than  of 
the  nice  questions  of  love  or  honor. 

It  is  a  question  of  the  latter,  Urquhart  is  now 
come  upon.     Though  Milicent  has  told  him  that 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


103 


of 


Miss  Ursula  feels  very  little  interest  in  their  en- 
gagement, and  does  not  pretend  to  exercise  the 
slightest  authority  over  her  actions,  yet  he  is  de- 
termined to  ask  her  permission  for  their  marriage. 
Milicent  is  not  only  very  young,  but  she  is  also 
ignorant  of  the  world's  ways  ;  and  it  seems  scarcely 
honest  to  take  her  promise,  and  have  so  little  ex- 
acted from  him  on  her  part.  Such,  at  leasfc,  are 
Urquhart's  views;  but  when  he  tells  Milicent  he 
wishes  to  see  Miss  Ursula,  she  laughs  at  him,  and 
it  is  not  until  he  insists  upon  her  calling  her  aunt, 
and  looks  grave  and  decidedly  hurt,  that  she 
shrugs  her  shoulders  most  uncivilly,  saying,  "  Aunt 
Ursula  won't  thank  you  for  the  trouble  you  will 
give  her." 

It  is  in  the  room  called  by  courtesy  the  parlor, 
that  Urquhart  waits  for  his  interview  with  Miss 
Uisula,  —  a  great  bare  room,  almost  blinding  with 
the  glare  from  the  many  shutterless  windows.  It 
is  scrupulously  clean ;  not  a  spot  to  be  seen, 
though  the  searching  light  reveals  eveii  the  cor- 
ners. As  to  furniture,  it  is  scant  indeed ;  only  a 
table,  and  barely  chairs  enough  to  seat  half  a 
dozen  people.  There  is  nothing  to  give  the  room 
a  home-like  look,  or  even  the  air  of  ever  being 
used.  A  book  or  two,  or  a  few  .lowers,  even  a 
woman's  work-basket,  or  a  trifling  ornament,  — 
anything  to  hint  of  a  feminine  lov^e  of  decoration, 
—  would  have  taken  away  from  the  appearance  of 
great  poverty. 

There  being  nothing  to  see,  except  a  fine  view 
of  the  sea  from  the  windows-  and  nothino"  to  do  to 


104 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


wile  away  the  time,  Urquhart's  patience  is  very 
soon  exhausted.  It  seems  to  him  an  interminable 
while  before  he  hears  steps  in  the  hall ;  and  then 
Milicent  comes  in,  followed  by  Miss  Ursula. 

Urquhart  is  struck  with  the  extreme  dissimilar- 
ity between   aunt   and   niece:  Milicent  so  slight, 
almost  childlike  beside  Miss  Ursula,  whose  stat^ure 
is  increased  by  the  severe  style  of  her  dress,  so 
scant  that  there  is  not  an  unnecessary  plait  or  fold 
in  it.     She  looks  as  if  she  belonged  to  that  most 
peculiar  order  of  religionists,  the  lay-sisters  of  a 
convent,  who,  though  often  reared  delicately,  volun- 
tarily take  the  hard,  disagreeable  life  of  a  menial, 
either  to  gain  a  painful  admittance  into  heaven,  or 
to  fulfill  an  earthly  vow  that  of  itself  is  bitter  and 
humiliating. 

"  Milicent  tells  me  you  wish  to  speak  to  me," 
says  Miss  Ursula,  as  soon  as  she  comes  into  the 
room,  vouchsafing  Urquhart  no  other  salutation, 
though  she  does  motion  him  to  a  chair. 

He  is  far  too  wise  to  submit  to  being  seated  on 
one  of  these,  stiffly  set  back  against  the  wall,  where 
he  would  feel  like  a  school-boy  in  disgrace.  So 
he  draws  the  indicated  chair  up  to  the  table,  by 
which  Miss  Ursula  has  taken  her  place.  After 
that  one  act  of  self-assertion,  Urquhart  scarcely 
knows  how  tc  proceed ;  for  he  is  embarrassed  by 
the  consciousness  that  Miss  Ursula  is  watching  him 
keenly,  and  at  the  same  time  does  not  intend  to 
help  him  out  in  the  least,  by  a  judicious  remark 
or  even  a  question. 

Fortunately,  Milicent  comes  to  the  rescue  in  her 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


105 


» 


downright,  imperative  way.  It  is  absurd,  in  her 
*^yes,  for  two  people  to  sit  looking  at  each  other,  if 
either  of  them  has  anything  of  importance  to  say. 
So  she  remarks  to  Miss  Ursula,  by  way  of  giving 

a  bit  of  information  which  might  be  of  service, 

"  Mr.  Urquhart  has  only  come  to  repeat  what  I 
told  you  last  night.  Aunt  Ursula.  I  told  him  it 
was  quite  unnecessary  to  trouble  you ;  but  I  fancy 
it  is  customary  and  civil  in  him  to  ask  your  per- 
mission, or  he  would  not  take  so  much  pains  to 
do  so." 

"  You  have  told  him  that  I  have  nothing  to  say 
about  your  marrying,  —  that  I  have  neither  the 
power  nor  the  wish  to  interfere  with  you?"  Miss 
Ursula  asks  Milicent,  very  much  as  if  the  young 
girl  were  sponsor  to  Urquhart,  and  were  making 
the  promises  for  him. 

"  Yes,  I  have  told  him,  though  perhaps  not  in 
tliose  precise  words,"  answers  Milicent,  as  coldly 
and  measuredly  as  Miss  Ursula  herself. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  have  also  told  him  that 
there  has  been  no  objection  made  to  your  marriage 
by  any  one,"  says  Miss  Ursula,  still  speaking  to 
Milicent,  and  ignoring  Urquhart. 

"  But  that  is  not  what  I  came  to  speak  of,"  Ur- 
quhart interposes.  It  is  decidedly  awkward  to  be 
left  out  of  the  conversation  ;  and  besides,  he  has 
come  there  with  an  intention,  and  is  fully  deter- 
mined  to  carry  it  out. 

Miss  Ursula  looks  at  him  when  he  speaks,  but 
makes  no  remark  ;  so  he  goes  on :  — 

*'  That  vnnr  -nipne  aVinpM  folro  -n^^  ^~  f i.  i x 


I 


II 


106 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


surprising.  But  it  is  only  natural  and  proper  that 
you  should  wish  to  know  something  of  me,  be- 
forp  you  willingly  trust  me  with  Milicent's  future 
happiness.  Unfortunately,  I  have  nothing  else  to 
bring  you  but  a  few  letters  from  men  whom,  if  you 
have  never  known,  at  least  you  may  have  heard 
of;  and  also  some  vouchers  which  will  show  you 
that  if  Milicent  outlives  me  there  will  be  a  suffi- 
cient provision  for  her  comfort." 

Urquhart  has  taken  some  half  dozen  letters  from 
his  pocket,  as  he  makes  this  speech  ;  and  lays  them 
m  a  pile  before  Miss  Ursula.  But  she  brushes 
them  away  with  her  hand,  as  she  says,  -- 

"  It  is  not  at  all  worth  while  for  me  to  take  the 
trouble  to  read  these.  How  could  I  know  any- 
thing  of  your  corresj)ondence  ?  " 

"  They  are  from  prominent  men  in  the  States ; 
those  who  are  well  known  by  many  who  have  no 
personal  acquaintance  with  them,"  Urquhart  be- 
gins. 

"  Fame  travels  slowly  to  these  parts,  and  I  never 
read  the  papers,"  Miss  Ursula  says,  bluntly.  "  As 
for  any  future  provision  for  Milicent,  it  is  as  well 
to  tell  you  that  there  is  no  form  of  poverty,  except 
absolute  beggary,  which  she  has  not  felt ;  so  that 
she  will  not  be  hard  to  satisfy,  and  she  can  be 
safely  left  to  your  own  notions  of  justice,  even  if 
they  be  ever  so  limited.  I  beg  your  pardon  if  I 
seem  uncivil,"  ~  for  Urquhart  is  scarlet  with  sup- 
pressed wrath,  —  "  but  we  set  very  little  store  on 
social  standing,  in  such  a  primitive  place  as  this." 

"  But  you  can't  object  to  readim?  mv  Ipftpra  ^r 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


107 


Milicent's  sake.  I  shall  feel  utterly  uncomfort- 
able, if  you  know  nothing  whatever  about  me,  and 
take  me  entirely  on  trust." 

"  You  will  have  to  be  taken  on  trust,  after  all," 
replies  Miss  Ursula.  "I  have  no  doubt  your  let- 
ters are  most  satisfactory,  especially  as  far  as  your 
character  goes.  If  not,  you  would  not  be  so  eager 
to  show  them.  But  you  are  a  young  man  yet,  and 
such  certificates  are  to  be  believed  only  when  we 
are  in  ripe  old  age,  or  after  we  are  dead.  Many  a 
proud  ship  has  a  weak  plank  that  is  never  discov- 
ered in  a  calm  sea,  nor  until  the  storm  comes  and 
it  founders,  to  the  surprise  of  many.  If  Milicent 
is  bent  on  marrying  you,  she  must  run  her  risk,  as 
every  other  woman  does." 

Urquhart  begins  to  gather  up  his  rejected  corre- 
spondence, silently.  He  wishes  he  had  taken  Mil- 
icent's advice,  and  not  insisted  upon  seeing  Miss 
Ursula.  Yet  how  could  he  have  foreseen  that  cer- 
tificates of  respectability  and  wealth  would  be  ut- 
terly scorned  ? 

"  Have  you  a  mother  ?  "  asks  Miss  Ursula  ab- 
ruptly, as  soon  as  Urquhart  has  put  the  unfortu- 
nate letters  into  his  pocket  again. 

"  No.  I  was  so  unhappy  as  to  lose  my  mother 
before  I  could  remember  her." 

"Nor  father?" 

"  He  died  the  year  after  my  mother." 

"  Have  you  no  sisters  nor  brothers  ?  " 

Urquhart  shakes  his  rv  a, 

"No  relatives  who  have  a  right  to  feel  an  inter- 
est in  youi'  marriage  ?  "  she  questions. 


108 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  have  no  near  relations.  Some  distant  cous- 
ins, perhaps,  who  would  be  glad  to  cbim  the  same 
blood  if  I  should  die  intestate,"  answers  Urquhart, 
shortly. 

"Then  no  doubt  you  have  some  friend  you 
ought  to  consult." 

"  No.  I  had  a  guardian,  but  I  have  outgrown, 
some  years  ago,  all  right  of  interference  on  his 
part." 

"  Then  of  coarse,  as  we  ask  no  reference  on 
your  side,  you  will  care  for  none  on  Milicent's. 
Any  of  our  neighbors  can  testify  as  to  our  being 
poor.  As  the  wor.l  1  uses  the  term,  Milicent  is  well 
born  ;  that  is,  hei  family  was  originally  of  good 
standing.  I  have  only  my  word  to  give  yoi  how- 
ever. I  have  no  correspondence  to  offer  as  proof 
that  what  I  say  is  true." 

"I  do  not  wish  arything  of  the  kind  on  Mili- 
cent's account.  It  is  of  Milicent  herself  only,  that 
I  have  thought,"  replies  Urquhart.  "  I  only  de- 
sired to  show  you,  through  my  letters,  that  I  am  not 
a  mere  penniless  adventurer.  I  am  sure  I  ought  to 
feel  flattered  that  you  do  not  care  to  read  them." 

Miss  Ursula  has  waited  with  undisguised  impa- 
tience for  him  to  finish.  "  If  I  might  only  give 
you  a  caution,  and  were  sure  you  would  profit  by 
it,  I  should  be  glad,"  she  says.  "  It  is  very  simple, 
~  only  that  you  had  better  go  away  at  once„  and 
have  nothing  to  do  with  us.  Milicent  will  e-et  over 
your  desertion.  She  is  young,  and  so  must  neces- 
sarily be  shallow  of  feeling." 

She  does  not  wait  to  hear  what  answer  he  would 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


109 


make,  but  leaves  the  room  at  once,  without  even 
bidding  him  good-morning.  Again  Urquhart  hears 
her  step  on  the  bare  floor  of  the  hall ;  then  a  door 
slams,  and  there  is  a  sudden  cessation  of  all 
sounds. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  follow  Aunt  Ursula's  advice  ?  " 
asks  Milicent,  from  the  window  where  she  has 
been  standing,  rather  pale  and  very  still,  a  mere 
listener  since  she  had  made  known  to  Miss  Ursula 
what  was  Urquhart's  business  with  her. 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  to  send  me  off,"  answers 
Urquhart,  smiling,  and  not  looking  at  all  anxious 
nor  unhapiDy. 

*'  But  perhaps  you  will  go  away  ?  " 

"  Not  until  you  are  ready  to  go  with  me.  Being 
still  somewhat  young  myself,  I  do  not  believe  in 
Miss  Ursula's  doctrine  about  the  shallowness  of 
youthful  feelings.  Indeed,  I  flatter  myself  that 
you  would  grieve  over  my  going." 

"  I  should  certainly  be  disappointed." 

"Only  disappointed?"  asks  Urquhart,  hurt  and 
surprised  by  the  cool  admission,  when  he  was  in 
search  of  something  far  warmer  and  more  tender. 

"  What  would  you  have  more  ?  Does  not  the 
word  cover  every  evil  in  life  ?  Every  failure  must 
be  a  disappointment.  I  can't  think  any  other  word 
comparable  to  it  in  real  sadness,"  says  Milicent, 
quietly. 

"Then  you  shall  never  have  to  say  it.  I  shall 
take  care  that  you  have  no  disappointments  in 
life,"    Urquhart    declares,    more    tenderly    than 

v/iSciy. 


ul 


110 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Milicent  comes  a  step  nearer.  She  clasps  her 
hands  over  the  back  of  Miss  Ursula's  chair,  that 
stands  between  them.  Her  color  has  faded  again, 
the  dimples  are  gone  from  about  the  rosy  mouth,' 
and  there  is  a  troubled  line  upon  her  brow,  as  she 
says  slowly,  — 

"  Oh,  are  you  sure  ?  " 

"Sure,  Milicent?" 

"That  >ou  want  me  — we?  Just  me?— and 
that  nothing  else  makes  any  difference  ?  " 

Urquhart  laughs  ;  there  is  a  ring  of  triumph  in 
the  sound.  Is  not  she  learning  already  the  lesson 
he  promised  yesterday  to  teach  her  ? 

"  Just  you,  Milicent.  Nothing  else  makes  any 
difference." 

He  is  coming  to  her  :  but  she  draws  away,  her 
color  returning  again. 

"  One  likes  to  be  honest,  and  not  take  more  than 
one  gives.     I  am  afraid  I  am  more  of  a  gainer  in 
this  engagement  of  ours,  than  you." 
"  Not  if  I  gain  your  hea. t,  Milicent." 
"  If  either  of  us  knew  what  it  is  worth !  " 
"  Its  value  may  increase,"  says  Urquhart,  lightly. 
"  Love  is  said  to  bring  out  all  the  innate  goodness 
of  the  heart.     Hence  all  lovers  are  for  the  time,  at 
least,  religious." 

"  But  I  've  heard  they  are  somewhat  given  to 
idolatry.  It  must  be  pleasant  to  have  a  household 
god,  even  though  it  is  a  forbidden  thing,"  says 
Milicent,  laughing  ;  and  then,  thoughtfully,  "Aunt 
Ursula  was  wrong,  then.  She  said  I  was  making  a 
mere  scrawl  of  my  life." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Ill 


"  I  fancy  she  is  not  infaUible.  Milicent,  I  can 
understand  very  well,  now,  why  you  were  so  anx- 
ious for  me  to  promise  not  to  bring  you  back  here. 
Miss  Ursula,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so,  must 
be  slightly  uncomfortable  to  live  with." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Ursula  is  not  half  as  bad  as  others," 
returns  Milicent,  quickly. 

"As  others?    What  others?" 

"  Other  things.  I  don't  think  you  would  under- 
stand even  if  I  told  you,"  answers  the  girl,  a  little 
sharply. 

"  Try  me,  and  see  if  I  cannot.  Perhaps  I  am 
not  so  stupid  as  you  give  me  credit  for  being." 

"  Want  of  experience  is  not  stupidity,  though 
sometimes  it  makes  us  very  ignorant.  I  suppose 
you  know  very  little  about  poverty,  which  is  a  ter- 
rible bugbear  of  mine." 

"I  have  no  personal  knowledge,"  admits  Ur- 
quhart  regretfully,  as  if  he  would  fain  have,  for 
her  sake.  "  I  never  knew  the  value  of  money  be- 
fore now,  when  it  will  increase  your  happiness." 

"Aunt  Ursula  says  very  differently,"  begins 
Milicent. 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  I  don't  think  Miss  Ur- 
snla  infallible.  But  what  does  your  sage  aunt 
say?" 

"  That  money  is  of  but  little  use  in  making  one 
happy,  and  sometimes  even  comfortable.  She  has 
known  a  very  rich  person  die  of  starvation." 

"Then  that  very  rich  person  must  have  been 
bent  on  self-murder,"  says  Urquhart,  laughing. 

"  No,  it  was  some  disease  where  it  was  impossi- 


112 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


ble  to  swallow.     Of  course  no  one  is  exempt  from 
illness." 

"But,  Milieent,"  asks  Urquhart,  a  little  anx- 
iously, "you  are  not  altogether  mercenary?  You 
like  me  a  little  for  myself  ?  " 

"  A  little,"  she  answers,  smiling. 

"  And  if  I  were  poor,  you  would  still  be  willing 
to  marry  me  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  certainly  I  would.  That  is,"  she 
adds,  still  smiling,  "  if  you  would  be  sure  to  take 
me  away  from  here." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  to  go  with  me,  Milieent  ?  " 

"  No,  not  in  the  least.  Why  should  I  be  ?  "  she 
asks  in  surprise. 

"  Because  you  know  really  so  little  of  me.  You 
had  better  read  these  letters  Miss  Ursula  scorned 
so.  They  will  tell  you  something,  perhaps,"  he 
urges. 

"No,  Aunt  Ursula  is  right.  The  past  can  be 
nothing  to  us,  as  we  live  in  the  present ;  and  your 
letters  can  refer  only  to  it." 

"  But  my  past  is  sure  to  color  my  future.  To 
tell  the  truth,  Milieent,  if  I  had  a  sister,  I  would 
not  permit  her  to  marry  a  man  she  knows  so  little 
of,  as  you  of  me,  unless  she  allowed  me  to  make 
inquiries." 

"  If  you  had  a  sister,  you  would  know  by  this 
time  that  she  would  do  just  as  she  pleased,"  retorts 
Milieent. 

"I  know  you  women  are  frightfully  reckless. 
Not  that  I  have  any  intention  of  imposing  upon 
you,"  says  Urquhart,  smiling.     "  I  am  hugely  flat- 


PI  I. or  FORTUNE. 


118 


tered  by  your  trust  in  me.     Nevertheless,  I  am 

sure  that  if  you  liad  a  father  " 

"  What  would  my  father  do  ?  " 

"  He  would  read  those  letters  Miss  Ursula  scorned 
to  touch." 

"  He  would  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  We  are 
not  suspicious  in  our  small  community.  If  a  fish- 
erman  has  good  luck,  it  is  not  polite  to  ask  him 
where  he  sets  his  nets." 

"  Because  you  susp  ct  him  of  infringing  on  some 
fishing-law,  then,  i^e  wary,  Milicent.  I  never 
knew  a  woman  yet,  who  would  not  argue  both  sides 
of  a  case,  if  you  gave  her  sufficient  time  ;  or,  if 
not,  adroitly  change  sides,"  says  Urquhart,  laugh- 


mg. 


»'  Therefore  1 11  not  argue  at  all,  but  flatly  assert 

that  I  intend  to  abide  by  Aunt  Ursula's  decision." 

"The  risk  is  on  your  own  head,  then,  if  you  find 

me  sailing  under  false  colors.     I  give  you  a  fair 

chance  to  inspect  my  papers,  and  you  refuf  e." 

"Let  us   go  to  the  cliffs,"  proposes  Milicent, 
abruptly  ending  the  subject. 

"  You  should  have  let  me  propose  the  walk,"  he 
says  gravely ;  and  then,  seeing  her  blush  and  the 
angry  flash  of  her  eyes,  he  adds,  laughing,  "  You 
silly  child !  as  if  the  cliffs  are  not  as  much  your  re- 
ception-room as  this  parlor.  If  there  is  only  wind 
enough  to  sail,  however,  I  shall  like  that  better 
than  walkins:," 

There  is  just  enough  to  swell  the  leg-of-mutton 
sail  of  the  yacht's  small  boat,  which  to-day  again  is 
beached  m  Green  Cove.    It  is  with  a  beating  heart 

8 


\ 


114 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


that  Milicent  lots  Urquhart  hand  her  to  the  stern, 
and  takes  the  tillor-ropes  onco  more,  while  he 
pu.shes  out  from  sliore,  and  springs  in  after  her. 
Is  it  a  dream,  that  twilight  hour  yesterday?  Has 
nothing  at  all  hapi)ened  only  they  are  just  sailing 
out  upon  the  water,  and  the  sun  is  going  down  in 
rose  and  lilac,  as  it  did  last  evening  ? 


;,        I 


tern, 
3  he 
her. 
lias 
ilincr 

II  in 


YIL 

"Olancing  like  a  dragon-fly 
In  Bummer  suit  and  silkit  of  holiday." 

The  summer  is  past;    September  is  blooming 
about  Stephen's  cottage.     The  apples  lie  in  rosy 
heaps  through  the  small  orchard,  the  only  one  on 
the   island,  in  its  sheltered  nook  behind  the  low 
spruce-wood.     In  one  corner,  an  ox  is  lumbering 
through   the  unusual  task  of  walking  round  and 
round  in  a  short  dizzying  circle,  turning  the  cider- 
press,  which  creaks  with  its  load  of  fruit.     The 
earth  is  preparing  for  her  long  winter's  rest ;  and 
Stephen,  like  Joseph  of  old,  is  hoarding  her  treas- 
ures  in  his  barns,  against  the  future.     It  gives  him 
little  pleasure  to  know  that  Nature  has  been  un- 
wontedly  liberal  in  her  gifts  :  for  these  are  not  now 
for  Milicent.     Only  last  year  she  liked  his  cider  — 
"Why  is   it  that  everything  tastes  good  to  a 
boy?"  asks  Urquhart,  who  is  sitting  on  the  gate, 
watching  the  gyrations  of  the  patient  ox.     He  has 
walked  over  to  taste  the  new  cider,  which,  from  his 
recollection  of  boyish  enjoyment,  he  expected  to  be 
delicious,  and  which   proves   to   his  more  mature 
taste  insipid,  as  well  as  dubious  as  to  wholesome- 
ness.     "  I  remember  drinking  quarts  of  just  such 
apple  juice  as  this,"  he  goes  on,  "and  not  only 
thinking  it  fine,  but  I  have  lived  to  tell  the  tale : 


iV'. 


hi 
III  4  11!  ;H 


116 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


which  in  my  j..dgment  is  the  more  surprising  fact 
of  the  two.  If  our  palates  were  not  cultivated,  as 
well  as  our  minds,  we  would  relapse  into  utter  bar- 
barism." 

"No  doubt  it  was  the  mode  of  imbibing  the 
cider  which  niude  it  fine,"  replies  Stephen,  amused 
by  UrqiLihart's  disgust.  "  If  you  had  a  straw  in- 
serted into  the  bung-hole  of  that  barrel,  you  could 
give  the  apple-juice  a  better  test." 

"  Not  unless  it  were  forbidden.  Stolen  waters 
are  sweet.  There  is  a  certain  zest  about  secret 
pleasures,  if  only  L.^'er  through  a  straw." 

Stephen  looks  annoyed,  and  says  hastily,  "  That 
is  a  dangerous  doctrine." 

"  Perhaps  so,  unless  we  confine  it  to  cider.  I 
rather  think  you  have  liit  the  truth,  and  it  is  the 
quantity  that  makes  it  unpalatable.  Indeed,  I  sus- 
pect most  things  are  better  taken  through  a  straw. 
It  prevents  a  surfeit,  and  that  has  been  my  chief 
evil  thus  far  in  life." 

"  Did  you  come  here  in  an  invalid  state,  in  search 
of  an  appetite  ?  " 

"  Metaphorically.  But  I  did  not  expect  to  find 
my  cure  by  means  so  charming  and  delectable  as 
I  have." 

"  You  mean  Milicent.'* 

"Exactly.  I  had  always  the  deepest  pity  for 
Adam,  as  the  one  man  in  the  world  with  only  the 
one  woman  for  companion.  Just  fancy  it!  At 
least  it  was  not  my  idea  of  paradise.  But  lately 
I  have  come  to  quite  a  different  conclusion,  and 
think  his  love-making  must  have  been  amply  snf. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


117 


ficient  for  his  happiness,  especially  if  his  Eve  had 
as  many  moods  as  my  Eve's,  which  I  occasionaUy 
think  adequate  to  half  a  dozen  of  her  sex." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  you  are  a  fit  judge  of  the 
peculiarities  of  our  first  father's  position,"  says 
Stephen,  pushing  aside,  a  little  viciously,  a  stone  he 
has  been  turning  over  with  his  foot.  It  gives  him 
a  sharp  pain  to  hear  Urquhart  discuss  Milicent. 
"  You  like  fellowship  with  men  so  much,  that  you 
seek  the  fishermen  when  I  am  not  to  be  found,"  he 
adds. 

"  But  Adam  could  always  get  at  his  Eve,  as 
there  was  certainly  no  Aunt  Ursula  in  Eden  to 
look  forbidding,  and  make  him  feel  awkwardly  in 
the  way.  You  cannot  tell,"  continues  Urquhart, 
shifting  his  seat  somewhat  in  search  of  comfort  on 
the  rail,  — "you  cannot  tell,  because  you  have 
never  tried  it,  what  a  different  sensation  it  is  to 
make  love  on  the  bosom  of  the  ocean  under  the 
blue  sky,  or  in  the  pauses  of  a  n\  hirling  dance  or 
the  crush  of  an  overheated  ball-room.  I  did  not 
know  '  I  love  you '  could  take  such  varied  meaning 
from  varied  surroundings." 

"Do  you  mean  you  have  ever  said  that  before 
—  before  you  came  here  ?  "  asks  Stephen,  finding 
sudden  difficulty  in  naming  the  familiar  name 
"  Milicent." 

"  Many  dozens  of  times.  Ever  since  I  left  off 
petticoats  I  have  had  a  Dulcinea.  I  do  not  think 
Milicent  need  be  jealous :  for  such  a  mild  type  of 
the  disease  was  no  guard  against  my  taking  it  in 
its  most  violent  form." 


118 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


It  is  sacrilege,  in  Stephen's  opinion,  for  Milicent 
to  be  one  of  many  loves.  With  him  she  was  his 
first;  and  she  will,  he  is  very  sure,  be  his  last. 
Urquhart  guesses  something  of  his  thoughts,  for 
he  says,  — 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  well-ascertained  fact  that  first 
loves  come  to  naught.  I  am  convinced,  Ferguson, 
that  one  of  the  genuine  Flora  MacFlimseys  would 
fascinate  you,  looking  at  her  with  your  honest, 
rural  eyes,  as  my  little  fisher-maiden  has  bewitched 
me.  It  is  novelty  and  great  extremes  that  touch 
the  fancy." 

"I  could  not  possibly  admire  a  woman  of  the 
world,"  says  Stephen,  decidedly. 

"Nor  did  I  incline  to  rusticity  a  few  months 
ago  :  and  now  I  wonder  at  my  want  of  taste.  De- 
pend upon  it,  a  handsomely  dressed  woman,  with 
pleasant,  easy  manners,  would  make  a  vast  impres- 
sion upon  you  ;  and  they  are  to  be  found  in  our 
cities  by  hundreds.  Whereas,  such  a  gem  as  Mili- 
cent "  — 

"  I  have  been  too  long  used  to  Nature  and  her 
ways,  to  admire  fine  dress  and  fine  manners," 
breaks  in  Stephen,  with  a  little  asperity,  thinking 
of  Milicent  in  her  blue  cotton  dress. 

"  It  is  a  fact  that  they  are  at  variance,  —  na- 
ture and  millinery,  I  mean.  But  don't  taste  cider 
through  a  straw,  and  compare  it  to  manufactured 
wine,"  says  Urquhart,  coolly;  adding  somewhat 
abruptly,  "  Come  with  me  to  the  beach,  Ferguson. 
That  ox  can  keep  on  waltzing  without  your  watch- 
ing, and  I  want  your  opinion  about  something." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


119 


?> 


Urquhart  gets  down  from  his  perch  as  he  speaks, 
remarkmg  that  a  sofa  is  a  more  comfortable  seat 
than  a  fence-rail ;  another  hallucination  of  his  boy- 
hood forever  disposed  of.  And  Stephen,  suppos- 
ing that  the  something  to  be  the  subject  of  consul- 
tation  IS  the  yacht  lying  at  anchor  in  the  harbor, 
leaves  the  cider-making  in  charge  of  a  hand,  and 
goes  With  Urquhart. 

Some  weeks  before,  Urquhart  had  sent  to  a  lady 
friend  for  a  box  of  dresses  and  millinery,  dainty 
thmgs  for  a  lady's  toilette.     He  wrote  as  if  the 
articles  were   a   commission   he  had  undertaken: 
whether  for  a  trousseau  was  not  very  plain.    Alto- 
gether,  Urquhart's   was   a   very  diplomatic   note, 
prodigiously  inclined  to  mislead  ;  certainly  giving 
no  hmt  that  the  pretty  things  were  meant  for  a 
gitt,  which  he  very  much  hoped  Milicent  would  see 
no  impropriety  in  receiving.     Indeed,  he  was  not 
nearly  as  uneasy  upon  that  score,  as  upon  the  risk 
he  ran  m  giving  such  general  directions  where  par- 
ticular    ones  were    needed.     Urquhart  was    very 
proud  of  Mihcent's  beauty.     He  was  a  judge  of 
good  style,  he  was  sure,  and  understood  something 
of  the  secrets  of  the  becoming.     He  had  a  great 
desire  to  see  Milicent  as  she  would  look  as   his 
vvife;   indeed    as  his   betrothed,   he   would   have 
Iked  her  to  dress  better  than  the  girls  in  the  vil- 
lage. 

When  he  knew  the  important  box  was  well  on 
Its  way,  he  ventured  to  broach  the  subject  to  Mil- 
icent^; and,  to  his  great  relief,  she  only  treated  it 
merexy  as  an  unnecessary  bit  of  generosity  on  his 


J 


120 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


lilt- 


part,  and  made  no  demur  about  accepting  it.  So 
now  it  had  arrived,  and  had  been  taken  to  the 
house,  and  even  smuggled  up-stairs  to  Milicent's 
room  without  Miss  Ursuhi's  suspecting  it ;  and 
Milicent  has  promised  Urquhart  to  meet  him  on 
the  cliffs  in  one  of  the  new  dresses.  This  is  what 
he  wishes  Stephen  to  see. 

It  is  a  pity  Urquhart  could  not  have  watched 
the  child's  delight  as  she  unpacked  the  box,  hastily 
emptying  it  of  its  contents,  the  name  and  use  of 
much  of  which  she  could  not  even  guess.  The 
bed,  the  chairs,  the  floor,  were  strewn  with  the 
prettinesses  which  have  an  effect  so  enchanting 
upon  Eve's  daughters.  Milicent,  whose  experi- 
ence was  confined  to  the  few  shelves  of  Mrs. 
Featherstone's  small  shop,  had  had  no  idea  such 
perfect  shades  and  colors  were  to  be  found  out  of 
the  sky,  —  Nature's  palette,  where  she  is  wont  to 
experiment  in  mixing  hues. 

The  box  was  soon  emptied;  though  not  until 
Milicent  had  grown  a  little  weary  of  admiring  and 
pondering  the  use  of  much  of  her  new  finery.  Then 
came  the  reaction  :  she  began  to  feel  strangely  sad 
and  oppressed.  A  great  dread  overwhelmed  her, — 
a  dread  of  the  big  world,  and  of  what  might  be  re- 
quired of  her  in  it.  The  thought  might  never  have 
occurred  to  her,  if  she  had  not  suddenly  found  her- 
self in  possession  of  so  much  of  the  world's  pompc. 
Such  fine  dresses  must  of  necessity  belong  to  a 
fine  lady ;  and  Milicent  had  never  given  a  thought 
to  that  phase  of  the  new  life  before  her.  Certainly 
it  had  no  part   in  her  conception  of  enioyment. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


121 


I 


To  seek  new  scenes  and  sights,  with  new  adven- 
tures  by  the  way;  to  sail  in  the  Undine  on  un- 
known  waters ;  to  row  on  foreign  bays,  instead  of 
on  the  only  two  she  knew,-Urquhart  of  course 
bearing  I     ■  company  — 

Suddenly  a  low  sunbeam  casts  itself  into  her  lap 

brmgiiig  opal  tints  out  of  the  silk  that  lies  across 

It.     Mihcent  looks  up  quickly :  to  see  through  her 

western  wmdow  that  the  sun  is  setting. 

Urquhart  is  already  on  the  cliffs,  waiting  for 
her.  ° 

She  rises  hastily,  and  begins  to  dress.  She  must 
not  be  so  late  that  he  might  lose  patience  and 
come  m  search  of  her.  She  has  her  own  reasons 
for  discouraging  his  visits  after  sunset.  Perhaps 
Miss  Ursula  disapproves  ?  ^' or  the  miserable  lamp 
may  be  an  objection?  Girls  have  whims  and 
false  shames ;  and  Milicent  has  her  f uU  share  of 
both. 

^  She  chooses  the  simplest  dress  in  her  new  coUec- 
tion,  for  her  trial-toilette,— a  silk  the  color  of  a 
dove's  wing,  —  and  pins  a  knot  of  poppy-colored 
ribbons  amongst  the  lace   at   the  throat,  to  give 
more  effect  to  the  quiet  shade.     It  is  of  the  har- 
monizing of  the  colors  she  is  thinking :  she  does 
not  stop  to  look  at  the  effect  upon  her  face  in  the 
glass.     It  takes  her  no  longer  to  dress  in  the  rus- 
tlmg  silk  than   in  her  blue  cotton,  and  she  does 
not  stop  to  try  on  any  of  the  pretty  ornaments 
strewn   over  the  small  dresshig-table.     Her  next 
action  IS  peculiar.     She  tilts  her  looking-glass  — 
no  larger  than  a  common-sized  window- pane  — 


1171 


122 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


against  the  wall,  setting  it  on  the  floor  ;  and  after  a 
few  trials  to  get  at  the  precise  angle  of  vision,  she 
turns  her  hack  to  the  glass,  keeping  her  head  well 
turned  to  see  behind  her.  It  is  an  uncomfortable 
as  well  as  a  disappointing  effort,  to  catch  sight 
of  her  first  train.  Backward  and  forward  goes 
Milicent,  striving  to  catch  in  her  bit  of  mirror  the 
soft  sweep  of  the  silken  folds.  She  might  have 
been  taken  for  a  child  playing  lady,  as  she  passes 
up  and  down  the  great  bare  room,  perfectly  ab- 
sorbed in  the  unwonted  splendors  of  her  train. 

Suddenly  she  remembers  that  Urquhart  is  wait- 
ing for  her.  She  softly  opens  the  door  of  her 
room,  and  looks  out  into  the  hall.  There  is  no  one 
to  be  seen  or  heard  on  that  story.  '  She  gives  a 
quick,  anxious  glance  at  the  wonderful  amount  of 
fine  things  scattered  over  the  whole  room.  There 
is  no  time  to  gather  them  up,  and  no  hope  in  the 
world  of  getting  them  into  the  small  box  from 
which  they  were  unpacked.  The  only  hope  is  that 
Miss  Ursula  will  stay  down-stairs  :  if  she  should 
make  an  unwonted  visit  to  her  niece's  chamber, 
Milicent  cannot  help  smiling  at  the  astounding 
effect  all  these  pretty  pomps  and  vanities  would 
have  upon  unsuspecting  Miss  Ursula.  But  she 
must  trust  to  luck ;  so,  drawing  her  skirts  tightly 
about  her,  that  the  silk  shall  make  no  tell-tale 
rustle  over  the  bare  boards,  Milicent  runs  quickly 
down-stairs,  across  the  hall,  and  lets  herself  out  at 
the  front  door. 

She  is  fortunate  also  in  meeting  no  one  on  her 
way  to  the  cliffs.     Once  there,  she  will  not  fear 


I 

I 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  jgS 

being  seen  by  any  of  the  viUao-e  neonle  •  ,>  ;    .k 
p-pnpvn]  f-io  1  T         *"^**o«  people ;  it  is  the 

sure,  and  a  little  tsham.^     r    7^,'  ''''  "'  ^""y 
for  Stephen.  '  ^^  ''"'^  ">*'*  ■""  l»°l'«d 

JtCT  rirk?^/"'  ^''''  "-"  "^  ^-' 

quarter-d^^whieht':  /to'"'""  '^  '^'"""'"'^ 
and  a  turn  ■  and  tL     T\  ''"""'^  '«'''  ?"««« 

as  she  runs  ov      £'  „  So7  ""T'  ''"■''^"' 
her  silk  liV^f     ..1         1  *^^®™'  *^^®  rustle  of 

lier  silk  lighter  than  the  little  rushing  eddies  round 
V[iQ-  pools  at  their  feet.  «"«-nes  round 

Milicent  feels  very  much  a«5  if  oT.^ 
madeap  masquerade  in  htlw  fine  T""' 

ders  if  she  will  be  easil/.^eo'L^rc:"'',.;""- 
tend  to  play  her  part  bravely'and  t„  be  '"," 

as  a  fine  lady  shonM  be.     C  L\e^rtr£ 

h  retzmr"'  ^"^---'^  -^  •"-- 

ow  uress  tor  the   unwonted  sensatinr,      c 
when  the  two  men  turn  in  their  walk T        .    ^ 
ing  just  before  then,,  blushj  r^e'd  a    h        t 
bons,  and  yet  looking  at  thenfwHh  eyeTealt 
read  approval  in  theirs  ^       ^      *° 

^eefLTtr.h'^bS'''  ^"'  ^'  '^  P'-'y  *o  >^e 
pns.theylik^tl'S^;;---*^*^-''^-- 

ailtltfo:tVru1eU:ast  "'  '^'"""^^'"^ 

It  ::S:;---S::  finis- 

The  look  she  takes  for  apathy  is  the  blank  cer- 


"V 


124 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


\ 


ft  ■ 


tainty  that  he  has  lost  his  little  friend  as  well  as 
sweetheart,  in  the  fine  lady  Urquhart  would  fain 
make  her. 

But  Urquhart's  eyes  show  neither  apathy  nor  a 
sense  of  loss :  but  rather  the  greatest  satisfaction. 
Before  him  stands  Milicent  just  as  she  will  be 
when  she  is  his  wife.  He  has  often  painted  a 
mental  picture  of  her  arrayed  as  he  is  accustomed 
to  see  fair  women  ;  but  now  he  has  to  confess  his 
brightest  dreams  failed  utterly  in  doing  her  jus- 
tice. 

In  his  great  delight,  he  has  caught  both  her 
hands,  and  draws  her  to  him.  "  Stephen,  is  she 
not  beautiful?  Will  not  all  the  world  wonder 
where  I  got  my  bonny  bride,  when  I  show  her  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  to  say  you  fished  me  out  of  the 
sea,"  she  puts  in,  laughing.  "  I  warn  you,  I  do 
not  intend  to  admit  that  I  came  from  a  small  fish- 
ing-village of  an  island  not  to  be  found  on  a  map 
of  respectable  size." 

"  Of  course  only  the  sea-foam  could  have  made 
our  Venus.  Stephen,"  continues  Urquhart,  eager 
for  sympathy  in  his  rapture,  "  where  are  all  your 
theories  that  nature  only  is  to  be  admired,  when 
you  see  what  Paris  millinery  has  done  for  Mili- 
cent?" 

She  turns  again  to  Stephen,  as  Urquhart  speaks. 

"  You  do  not  like  it.  You  may  as  well  say  so 
in  plain  words,  as  look  it,"  she  says,  with  a  lit<le 
quaver  of  disappointment  in  her  voice.  "You 
would  rather  see  me  a  fisher-girl,  with  a  basket  on 
my  head,  than  dressed  like  a  lady." 


f 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  125 

^'  Ll™       n'     "•  ^"""^  *'"«"''"=  *«  dress.  "^ 
aereattei,    adds  Urquhart,  curtly.     "No  matter 
M.hee.vt;  he  knows  notlung  about  it.     iZ^i 
I  consider  you  charming."  '      " 

Uiquhart      nnks   unnecessary  frankness.      "But 
Stephen  evidently  does  not  admire  it." 
''  Hang  Stephen  !   What  is  it  to  him  ?  " 
"You  are  far  too  fine,  Millv  "  iav»  «t<,„i. 
'S  a  little  .nder  ^^Jl  eXf  S.' 
10  my  thinking,  your  cotton  dress  suits  the  cliffs 
and  the  sea.     I  shall  be   afraid  to  move  an  oar 
when  we  are  boating,  for  fear  nf   .r.^    t 
with  salt  water."  splashing  you 

"I  shall   not  wear  the   dress   boating,"  replies 
Mihcent,  reassuringly.  ""     ^^pnes 

her  ash4.eap  and  old  gowns,"  Urquhart  interposes. 
I  did  not  mean  to  be  unkind,  Millv,"  savs 
Stephen,  feeling  much  more  the  g  rl's  hurt  aee 
than  Urqnhart's  heat.  "The  drefs  no  doubt  s 
very  grand,  and  you  do  look  pretty  in  it.     But  I 

Sight  ot  you  made  me  feel  you  had   P-otfpn   f 
be  u.ed  to  the  knowledge  by  this  time.     You  are 

need  me  now,  and  I  am  wanted  at  home." 
Stephen  turns  to  go,  and  neither  MUieent  nor 


126 


•PILOT  FORTUNE. 


It '! 


I 


Urqiihai't  asks  him  to  stay.  If  he  is  hurt,  he  does 
not  show  it,  but  hurries  away  across  the  fields. 

"  Ferguson  is  decidedly  impertinent,"  says  Ur- 
quhart,  as  soon  as  Stephen  is  out  of  hearing. 

"Because  he  thinks  differently  from  us?"  asks 
Milicent,  with  a  slight  shrug  of  her  sho 'Iders. 

"  He  has  a  right  to  differ  "  —  Urquhart  is  some- 
what mollified  by  her  use  of  the  pronoun  —  "if 
he  honestly  does  so :  which  in  this  case  I  do  not 
believe.  But  I  cannot  see  why  he  should  criticise 
what  you  wear." 

"  Only  if  people  will  ask  questions,  they  natu- 
rally expect  answers,''  suggests  Milicent. 

"Which  is  unfortunate,  if  the  answer  conveys 
an  opinion  utterly  worthless.  Fancy  Ferguson 
an  oracle  of  fashion !  I  confess  I  am  glad  your 
future  life  will  be  far  removed  from  his  influence, 
or  he  might  be  using  it  in  a  more  important  mat- 
ter than  the  style  of  your  dress.  You  have  con- 
tracted a  habit  of  turning  to  him  for  ai)proval: 
when  you  are  separated,  I  have  an  humble  hope 
that  in  time  you  will  regard  my  opinion  as  some- 
thing worth." 

Urquhart  speaks  very  coolly  and  decidedly,  with 
the  evident  intention  of  making  an  immense  im- 
pression. 

"  That  will  depend  on  the  opinions  themselves," 
answers  the  girl,  a  mischievous  dimjile  coming  and 
going  about  the  demure  mouth.  "No  one  can 
judge  of  the  best  without  naturally  making  a 
comparison." 

"  Of  course  the  comparison  must  be  with  Fergu- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


127 


?) 


a 


son's  opinion.  I  am  greatly  obliged  to  you  for 
giving  me  the  oi)portunity  to  ask  what  might  have 
seemed  an  impertinence  at  another  time  :  why  you 
prefer  me  to  Steplien  ?  He  has  told  me  you  could 
have  been  mistress  of  the  cottage  if  you  had 
chosen." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  that  ?  "  She  has  dropped  her 
silken  train  on  the  rocks,  forgetting  the  risk  the 
color  runs  from  contact  with  salt  water;  and 
stands  looking  after  Stephen  as  he  crosses  the 
slope  against  the  sunset.  «  Only  an  angel  would 
do  for  Stephen.  I  am  not  half  good  enough  for 
him,"  she  says,  after  a  moment  of  silence;  and 
there  are  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  speaks. 

"  And  I  must  put  up  with  a  woman  !  After  all, 
I  am  rather  glad  I  am  not  so  superlatively  good 
that  I  must  needs  have  an  angel  for  my  wife  ;  for 
to  tell  the  honest  truth,  I  should  not  know  what  to 
do  with  her,"  says  Urquhart,  restored  to  his  ac- 
customed good-humor. 

"Of  course  not,  for  how  coidd  you  lecture  an 
angel  ?  —  and  I  think  you  like  to  do  that  occasion- 
ally. Besides,  an  angel  is  above  caring  for  your 
pretty  dresses  and  gewgaws,  all  of  which  I  admire 
so  much.  Only  it  was  frightfully  extravagant  in 
you  to  be  so  lavish  with  your  pretty  things,"  says 
Milicent,  smilingly. 

"And  you  liked  them  all? "he  asks,  pleased 
with  her  approval.  "  I  was  afrai^  Ferguson  had 
set  you  against  them.  But  you  must  not  permit 
hmi  to,  for  they  are  vastly  becoming  to  you." 

It  is  later  than  usual  when  Milicent  comes  home 


128 


w 


pn.OT  FORTUNK. 


thiH  evening.  Miss  Ursula  had  complained  of 
headache,  and  had  gone  to  bed  early.  Milicent 
gro])es  her  way  through  the  dark  hall  to  the 
kitchen ;  for  though  the  moon  is  up,  she  needs  the 
unwonted  luxury  of  a  lamp,  as  her  room  was  left 
in  confusion.  Miss  Ursula  never  makes  any  pro- 
vision for  light  when  Nature  gives  the  moon,  any 
more  than  when  she  gives  the  sun. 

Thomas  does  not  seem  to  regard  the  rules  of  the 
house  ;  for  he  has  tJie  only  lamp,  and  is  busy  doing 
something  to  his  fishing-rods  by  the  light  of  it. 
Fortunatidy,  there  is  a  candle  to  be  found  in  the 
closet,  and  no  keys  are  used  in  Miss  Ursula's 
housekeeping;  so  Milicent  goes  softly  across  the 
great  kitchen,  in  the  hoi)e  of  not  disturbing 
Thomas.  She  forgets  her  dress  of  silk  is  making 
a  rustle,  with  her  unwonted  train. 

"  Come  here,  Milicent,"  Thomas  says  quite  sud- 
denly.    "Let  me  look  at  you." 

She  comes  forward,  slowly,  reluctantly,  with  the 
unlighted  candle  in  her  hand,  and  stands  before 
him.  Thomas  takes  the  candle,  lights  it,  and 
coolly  surveys  her  with  its  feeble  aid ;  lifting  it 
above  her  head,  or  lowering  its  tiny  flame,  to  throw 
as  much  light  as  possible  on  her  i)retty  figure. 

Milicent  stands  quite  still,  never  moving  a  mus- 
cle under  this  scrutiny  of  his,  though  the  hot  blood 
that  surges  scarlet  to  her  temples  tells  that  she  re- 
sents it. 

"  Where  did  my  bonny  bird  get  her  fine  feath- 
ers ?  "  asks  Thomas  at  length.  "  Not  from  Mother 
Featherstone's  shop,  I  dare  swear." 


, 


PILOT  FOUTUNE. 


129 


mdiflorontly. 

"So  ho  lias  begun  to  dress  you,  has  he?" 
Thomas  »  hronml  face  is  as  flushed  as  her  own 
an.I  he  puts  the  candle  down  on  the  table  with  an 
unstea,  y  hand.  "Most  men  wait  until  they  are 
marned  for  that:  an.l  even  then  they  like  it  so 
I'ttlo  that  the  bride  manages  to  have  clothes 
enough  to  take  her  through  the  honeymoon." 

"Does  she?"  asks  Miliceut,  vainly  trying  to 
keep  a  sob  out  of  her  voice.  "  I  wonder  where  my 
store  of  clothes  would  come  from  ?  " 

;;  N"'  fron.  your  Aunt  Ursula's  purse,  certain, 
ly,  answers  Thomas,  who  has  recovered  his  usual 
coolness.     "She  is  not  i„  favor  of  this  new  choice 

IS  all  for  Stei.hen.  But  I  say  to  her,  if  the  bird 
wants  to  fly,  it  is  silly  to  cut  her  wings;  for  she 
will  be  sure  to  thi.ik  what  you  call  needful  re- 
stramt  is  persecution.  Yet  now  I  must  warn  you : 
If  you  wish  your  aunt  to  keep  quiet,  you  must 
not  turn  fine  lady  until  you  really  are  one,  and 
get  miles  away  from  here." 

"I  do  not  see  why  Aunt  Ursula  will  not  let 

me  wear  my  pretty  dresses,  as  I  have  them,"  says 

Mdicent,  looking  down  on  the   shimmering  sUk. 

As  I  am  a  lady,  why  should  she  object  to  my 

dressing  as  one,  if  it  costs  her  nothing '/" 

"Dresses!  The  fellow  is  at  least  liberal.  By 
all  means,  wear  the  pretty  things,  for  they  are 
vastly  becoming.     But  I  may  as  well  teU  you  that 


I 


130 


.PILOT  FORTUNE. 


if  Urquhart  had  considered  you  his  equal  in  the 
social  scale,  he  would  never  have  presumed  to  give 
yon  them." 

An  utter  silence  follows  this  remark ;  not  even 
a  fold  of  the  silk  dress  rustles. 

Thomas  must  have  been  very  sure  of  the  effect 
of  his  advice :  for  he  adds,  "  Keep  to  the  cotton 
dress,  Milicent.  There  is  nothing  certain  in  this 
life,  they  say,  except  death  and  taxes ;  and  if  Ur- 
quhart chooses  to  jilt  you,  it  will  be  awkward  to 
doff  the  silks  and  go  back  to  cheap  prints.  In- 
deed, if  I  were  you,  I  would  keep  one  of  my  cot- 
ton dresses,  as  King  Cophetua's  beggar-maiden 
might  have  kept  her  rags :  a  rod  to  hold  over  your 
lord's  head  if  he  does  not  array  you  finely  enough. 
He  would  not  like  his  so-called  friends  to  see  you 
in  the  gown  he  wooed  you  in." 

"  He  might  use  it  as  a  rod  over  my  Ivad,  unless 
he  found  a  more  effectual  one,"  says  Milicent, 
quickly. 

"  So  he  might ;  and  if  he  is  wise,  he  '11  try  to  find 
something  to  keep  you  humble.  One  might  think 
these  dresses  were  meant  for  just  such  a  lesson,  if 
he  knew  how  proud  you  are.  But  evidently  he  has 
not  a  suspicion." 

"  How  could  he,  when  I  am  so  ignorant,  I  don't 
even  know  when  to  be  proud  ?  "  says  Milicent,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  He  '11  not  put  that  down  to  a  personal  defect : 
only  to  your  education.  There,  don't  cry  about 
it.  There  is  no  harm  done,  only  you  '11  be  wise  if 
you  don't  wear  the  things." 


PILOT  FOhTUNE.  jgi 

He  turns  back  to  his  fishing-rods,  as  if  they  were 

not  r  v"r\™''°'''''"'''  *''^"  *^'"''«°t;  ^'nd  does 
not  speak  to  her  again,  though  she  lingers  awhile 
before  she  goes  up-stairs. 

She  has  to  clear  a  place  on  the  poor  chest  of 
drawers   for  her  lamp ;   and   then   tikes   up   the 
dresses  from  the  chairs  and  bed,  not  to  observt  and 
admire  them  but  to  fold  and  put  them  back  into 
the  box.    At  first  she  folds  them  careftdly;   but 
she  soon  grows  impatient  of  the  work,  and  sweeps 
them  ruthlessly,  all  in  a  n.ass,  into  the  box      She 
ha.  some  trouble  in  pressing  the  lid  down,  and  she 
would  wJhngly  have  driven  in  the  nails  but  for 
th^^no.se  m  what  is  the  middle  of  Miss  Ursula's 

Not  that  Milicent  is  in  the  least  dread  of  her 
annt;  but  that  the  wound  to  her  pride  is  too  deep 
for  ner  to  care  to  lay  it  bare.  ^ 


hi 


I  ji 


Hi 


VIII. 

"  Sound  the  deep  waters  — 

Who  shall  sound  that  deep  ?  " 

"  I  THOUGHT  you  woukl  have  worn  some  of  your 
pretty  things,  if  only  to  please  me,"  remonstrates 
Urquhart,  when  the  next  day  he  comes  over  to  the 
house,  and  Milicent  meets  him  in  her  usual  dress. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  she  asks,  with  a  shrug. 

"  I  gave  a  reason.     To  please  me." 

"  A  man  should  be  above  such  paltry  pleasures," 
she  says,  lightly. 

"  Above  being  pleased  by  seeing  you  look  pretty  ? 
Yet  I  ai'knowledge  there  is  something  I  would  ad- 
mire in  you,  besides  your  beauty.  May  I  venture 
to  tell  you  svhat  it  is  ?  " 

"  If  you  choose,"  she  answers  with  a  little  yawn : 
which,  however,  her  tone  belies. 

"  I  would  admire,  and  also  be  grateful  for,  a  lit- 
tle yielding  to  a  request  of  mine." 

Milicent  looks  at  him  rather  steadily.  "Then 
you  must  let  me  rely  on  your  never  urging  me  to 
do  what  you  would  not  approve  in  others." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  urge  you  to  do  what  I 
disapprove  of  ?  "  interrupts  Urquhart,  hotly. 

"  That  depends  upon  whether  you  approve  of  yes- 
terday's gift  to  me,  —  whether  it  is  one  you  would 
have  offered  to  any  other  girl  of  your  acquaintance. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


133 


j> 


Yet  why  should  we  quarrel  over  a  box  of  miUi- 
nery  ?  "  she  adds,  with  a  contempt  for  his  expen- 
sive present,  in  which   Urquliart  rejoices,  as   in 
many  more  of  her  small   ignorances.     Just  now 
he  IS  uncomfortably  in  fear  lest  she  should  press 
home  the  question  whether  he  would  have  given 
his  heap  of  millinery  to  any  of  his  city  friends  ; 
and  he  is  only  too  glad  to  find  the  very  low  esti- 
mate she  puts  upon  it  —  too  small  for  a  discussion. 
"  Why,  indeed,  should  we  quarrel  over  a  trifle  ?  " 
he  says,  with  alacrity. 

"  I  showed  you  last  evening,"  Milicent  goes  on, 
not  heeding  his  cheerful  interruption,  "how  I  shall 
look  when  I  am  dressed  as  girls  in  my  position 
usually  are ;  and  you  seemed  satisfied." 

*'  That  is  too  feeble  a  word.  I  was  charmed." 
"I  will  keep  to  my  poor  gowns  while  I  am  on 
the  island,  where  I  am  as  out  of  place  in  the  others 
as  a  sailor  in  'longshore  toggery,"  she  says  with  a 
smile.  "  Your  pretty  things  can  wait  until  —  until 
I  am  married.  Till  then,  as  Stephen  wisely  said, 
It  would  be  foolish  to  tramp  about  here,  decked 
out  as  a  fine  lady,  —  foolish  and  inconvenient. 
Whereas,  in  this  dress  "  — 

"  In  this  dress  you  have  no  excuse  to  urge  why 
you  shall  not  go  out  sailing  with  me  now." 

For  he  knows  very  well  Milicent  will  find  no  ex- 
cuse  in  the  southeasterly  wind,  which  might  have 
dismayed  some  fair  yachtswomen  he  had  sailed  away 
from  at  Grand  Manan  ;  but  which  only  brings  the 
sea-sparkle  into  this  girl's  eyes,  and  the  wild-rose 
color  to  her  cheeks. 


n 


i,il 


1 1 


134 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


As  they  cruise  about,  outside  the  harbor,  they 
can  see  how  the  wind  drives  the  breakers  in,  against 
the  outgoing  tide,  which,  with  its  rapid  rush  through 
Grand  Passage,  repels  them  in  long,  heaving  bil- 
lows, that  have  not  time  to  break  until  they  are 
pushed  back  beyond  the  black  point  of  Peter's  Isl- 
and :  when  they  join  again,  in  white  and  angry 
ranks,  that  rush  on  to  the  narrow  pass,  to  be  again 
repulsed.     On  the  Long  Island  shore  is  the  same 
rush:   the   breakers,  like  huge  white-maned   sea- 
things,  chasing  each  other  into  the  cleft  point. 

Then  comes  the  pause,  so  brief  here,  a  breathing- 
space  between  the  facing  and  the  rising  tide.  The 
steady  surge  of  the  tide-rip  in  its  long  white  line 
shows  when  it  turns  ;  and  Milicent  immediately 
proposes  to  pass  into  the  harbor,  and  to  sail  the 
whole  length  of  the  village,  past  the  high  knoll 
which  looks  down  on  the  white  street  and  over  the 
Bay  of  Fundy.  "  You  said  you  had  not  been  up 
there,  but  in  a  fog ;  and  now  it  is  so  clear,  we  '11 
have  the  best  view  of  the  setting  sun  from  there." 
But  who  can  count  upon  a  sunset,  even  when  the 
first  red  tints  are  deepening  in  the  west  ? 

Or  who  can  count  upon  an  hour's  sentimental 
journey  with  Milicent  ? 

"  Look,  there  is  a  trawler  coming  in,  and  it  not 
yet  Saturday !  "  she  cries,  as  they  skim  into  the 
passage.  "  See  the  two  boats  floating  after  her. 
It  is  old  Angus  —  no,  but  some  one  from  Freeport 
yonder  in  the  cove.  See,  she  is  sailing  over  there. 
Very  well :  I  don't  know  why  old  Angus  should 
have  had  such  luck  again ;  it  is  n't  long  since  he 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  J 35 

came  in  before  the  week  was  up,  with  such  a  fare 
ot  cod  ~  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds 
aboard  his  schooner  ! '' 

^  "Why,  what  a  little  fisher-maiden  is  lost  to  the 
island  when  the  Undine  carries  you  away !  I  dare 
say,  now,  you  understand  this  trawlino-?" 

She  nods  "  A  hook  on  every  yard'or  so  of  line, 
sunk  straight,  and  anchored  at  each  end  "  — • 

"  And  know  the  whole  tribe  of  cold-blood  rela- 
tions by  sight,  -  cod,  hake,  haddock,  pollock  ; 
which  of  them  was  marked  by  her  grimy  finger- 

She  nods  again.  « If  you  should  have  spent  all 
your  substance  on  traveling,  and  should  have  to 
turn  fisherman  in  earnest,  -  only  not  here,"  she 
interrupts  herself  quickly;  "in -in  the  Medi- 
thereT"'''  ^""^  ^^'*^^^'"  ^     ^«  *%  ^ave  coddies 

She  leans  forward,  laughing ;  then  with  a  sharp 

"Oh,  look,  look!  The  child!  He  is  caught  in 
the  tide-rip  -  he  will  certainly  be  drowned  !  » 

The  shifting  of  the  sail  just  there  shows  them 
both  what  It  had  hidden:  a  crazy  boat  with  a 
smaU  fair-haired  boy  in  it;  far  out  in  the  Passage, 
caught  in  the  swirling  eddies  which  look  so  smooth 
and  glassy,  and  which  are  so  treacherous. 

It  is  the  hour  when  the  tide  is  running  in 
through  this  strait  between  St.  Mary's  Bay  and 
i^undy.  Many  a  stout  fisherman,  ignorant  of  the 
currents,  and  entangled  in  them  just  here,  might 


186 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Hi 


lose  heart.  But  the  chikl,  imconscious  of  the  per- 
ilous net  spread  for  him  in  tliose  smoothly  circling 
lines,  is  calmly  paddling  about ;  and  only  when  his 
oar  is  wrenched  out  of  his  small  brown  hands,  by 
the  invisible  power,  he  gives  a  cry,  more  of  aston- 
ishment than  fear.  It  rings  out  over  the  water, 
and  blanches  Milicent's  white  fac  lore. 

At  her  quick  gasp,  Urquhart  i-  ,  to  look  at 
her,  for  an  instant  removing  his  eyes  from  the 
boat  yonder. 

What  is  it  her  eyes  say  to  him  ? 
It  is  in  answer  to  them  that  Urquhart,  his  lips 
set,  and  a  half-resentful  iire  in  his  glance,  seizes 
the  tiller-ropes  out  of  her  cold  hands,  and  runs  the 
boat  into  a  pool  in  the  ledge.  Without  a  word,  he 
lifts  her  out  upon  the  rock  ;  and  before  she  knows 
what  he  woiUd  do,  he  has  pushed  off  again  into  the 
stream,  he  has  crowded  on  all  sail,  and  is  flying 
before  the  wind  into  that  tangled  net,  winding  now 
closer  and  closer  about  the  helpless  boy. 

One  moment  Milicent  stands  there,  the  tide  glid- 
ing by  her  so  fast  that  these  very  rocks  where  Ur- 
quhart has  left  her  seem  to  heave.  The  next  mo- 
ment she  has  sunk  on  her  knees,  unconscious  of 
movement,  though  her  trembling  limbs  refuse  to 
support  her;  unconscious  of  prayer,  though  her 
hands  are  clasped  before  her ;  unconscious  of  self, 
and  only  gazing  out,  with  all  her  soul  in  her  eyes, 
to  those  two  boats,— the  one  caught  in  the  tide- 
rip's  circling  sweep,  the  other  skimming  towards 
it,  with  the  wind  in  the  full  sail. 

One  moment ;  then  she  brushes  her  hand  hastily 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


137 


across  her  eyes.    What  blurs  them  so  that  she  sees 
not  two  boats,  but  only  one  ? 

Two?  Yes;  the  other  upturned,  driftin-,  its 
white  wuig  spread  drenched  and  helpless  in  the 
water. 

There  is  a  cry,  a  shout  from  land.  The  oirl 
her  whole  soul  in  her  straining  eyes  that  never 
move  from  yonder  point  upon  the  waters  (though 
she  can  see  nothing  but  two  boats  that  float  keel 
upward  now), -the  girl  hears  nothing  consciously: 
knows  nothing,  till  across  that  blue  expanse  there 
shoots  a  dory,  with  a  man  bent  to  the  oars. 

Her  white  lips  part  then.     "  Stephen !     O  Ste- 

OGod!'''''''^   *^'"  '*  '"  '^'^  *^  '^^'  "^  ^^^• 
For  human  help  makes  us  believe  in  God's 
If  Stephen  lifts  up  his  head  to  look  at  her,  she 

does   not   know.     AH   she  knows  is  that  he  can 

thrid  that  net  of  waters  as  none  other  can :  and 

that,  a  moment  more,  and  he   has  lifted  a  limp 

and  dripping  burden  into  his  boat. 

And  now  it  plies  about  there  -  to  and  fro,  to 

and  Iro.     Is  any  one  entangled  in  the  rigging  of 

the  overturned  sail-boat  ? 

MiHcellr'"'''  ""'  ""^  *^"'^  ^'^^  "^"'^  '^^'''  '^"^^ 
She  has  not  swooned  away ;  but  somehow  she 

knows  nothing,  until  there  is  a  step  upon  the  rock, 

and  Stephen  stands  before  her. 

She  does  not  know  she  is  still  kneeling ;   she 

does   not   move,  but   looks   up  half  blindly  into 

Stephen  s  face. 


138 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I;jji:i 


II- 


It  is  very  pale  and  grave,  as  he  lifts  her  to  her 
feet. 

"  Come  away,  Milly.     The  worst  is  over.     He 
will  live." 

"He  — will— live"  — 

"  They  have  brought  him  to,  at  last.    Pie  opened 
his  eyes  just  as  I  came  away." 

She  stands  trembling,  clinging  to  his  arm  with 
both  her  hands;  but  his  tidings  have  brought  back 
a  tmge  of  color  to  her  face.  Or  is  it  the  reflection 
of  the  sunset's  lingering  glow,  that  reddens  the 
brown  rocks  where  she  stands,  and  goes  rippling 
with  the  treacherous  currents  over  Grand  Passage? 
Stephen,  looking  down  into  her  face,  draws  a 
hard  breath.  So  !  all  her  thought  is  for  this  Ur- 
quhart,  this  stranger  — 

^^  "  I  knew  you  would  save  him,"  she  says,  softly. 
"  You  would  save  him,  if  any  one  could.  They 
have  brought  him  to  — and  he  has  asked  forme?" 
"  No  —  that  is  —  I  do  not  think  he  has  had  time 
to  understand." 

^  "  But  you  will  take  me  to  him,"  she  says,  clasp- 
mg  her  hands  over  his  arm.  And  then,  the  light 
coming  into  her  eyes  and  the  color  with  a  rush 
into  her  upturned  face :  "  It  was  a  brave  thing 
and  a  noble,  Stephen  —  to  fling  away  his  life,  to 
save  the  child's.  You  will  take  me  to  him,  and  let 
me  tell  him  so  ?  " 

Stephen  is  silent  an  instant.  Milicent,  sud- 
denly looking  up  questioningly  into  his  grave  face, 
remembers,  with  a  pang.  Has  she  hurt  Stephen, 
with  her  eagerness  ? 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


139 


But  he  is  saying,  — 

*'  Urquhart  is  at  Mrs.  Featherstone's,  Milly  ** 

"  Yes.    Well,  that  is  quite  near." 

"And  the  boy  was  Mrs.  Featherstone's." 

"Dickon?    Naughty  little  Dickon,  who  never 

will  keep  out  of  mischief!     Poor  little  fellow,  no 

doubt  he  has  learned  a  lesson  now." 

"A   lesson    he   will   need    never  more,   Milly 

Come,  dear,  you  had  best  let  me  take  you  home 

now.     Urquhart  wiU  be  able   to  follow,  after   a 

time. 

But  the  girl  is  looking  at  him  with  wide,  fright- 
ened eyes.  ° 

"Never  more,  Stephen?  He -he  is  deacU^^ 
And  then,  with  a  piteous  cry,  "  Oh,  and  I  let  him 
almost  throw  away  his  life  for  nothing,  —for  noth- 

him'!  "^'^  '"''  ^"^  ^"^  ^""'  ^*^^'^''"'  ""  ^'*  "^^  ^^  *^ 
Stephen  hesitates.  The  drowned  boy  lies  in  the 
room  through  which  MiUy  must  pass  to  reach 
Urquhart,  -  MiUy,  who  has  known  so  little  of 
death,  and  yet  has  a  dread,  a  shrinking  from  it, 
beyond  words. 

She  seems  to  divine  what  is  passing  through  his 
mind.  She  looks  up  at  him  with  a  ghost  of  a 
smile.  "  The  child  he  would  have  died  to  save," 
she  says  softly.  "  Oh,  Stephen,  he  must  be  so  sorry 
so  scrry!  Poor  little  Dickon!  You  will  take  me 
to  see  him  ?  " 

^  The  short  walk  to  the  cottage  on  the  hillside 
IS  m  silence.  Stephen  feels  the  thrill  that  runs 
through   Milicent,   as   she   rests  her   hand   more 


140 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


ii 


11 


r  ,.|. 


IS'. 


heavily  on  his  arm  when  they  near  the  ^ate,  and 
see  the  neighbors  chiHtered  about  it.  Most  of  the 
men  are  away  at  f  o  fishing;  but  tlie  women  are 
out,  in  eager  knots,  that  take  Stq)hen's  memory 
back  to  the  day  when  the  boats  came  in  after  the 
storm,  and  brought  the  Undine  with  them.  Is 
Milicent  thinking  of  tliat,  too  ? 

He  cannot  tell :  she  is  hurrying  idong,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  cottage  in  a  straining  sort  of 
way,  as  if  seeing  nothing  nearer.  Once  or  twice 
her  foot  has  slipped  on  the  pebbled  path  between 
the  fish-flakes,  as  if  she  might  have  fallen  if  he 
had  not  led  her  on.  One  woman  would  have 
stopped  her  for  a  bit  of  whispered  gossip  over 
poor  Widow  Featherstone's  sad  loss,  and  the  brave 
young  gentleman ;  but  Stephen  puts  her  quietly 
aside,  and  leads  the  girl  up  the  two  or  three  low 
front  steps. 

The  cottage  stands,  like  its  neighbors,  with  its 
gable  to  the  street.     One  large  bow-window  is  all 
ablaze  with  flowering  geraniums  ;  the  other,  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  front  door,  is  set  out  with  lol- 
lipops to  tempt  the  village  children  ;  with  a  roll  or 
two  of  gay  prints;  a  scarlet  japanned  tea-chest ;  a 
slanting  box  of  sugars ;  a  knot  of  ribbons  and  ar- 
tificial roses  overhanging  all,  from  some  sort  of  an 
erect:  an   in   the   midst.     But  it   is  not  into   this, 
the  viUage  shop  (successful  rival  of   the   Boston 
trader's  on  the  pier  opposite),    but   into  the  cor- 
responding room    across   the   box  -  passage,   that 
Stephen  is  now  leading  Milicent.     He  would  fain 
have  taken  her  in  some  other  way  ;  but  the  room 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


141 


where  they  have   laid  Urquhart  has  no  entrance 
save  through  this.  "»ui-o 

At  first  Milicent  is  passing  through  blindly  as 

were,  suilfering  Stephen  to  guide  her,  and  on  y 

ookmg  down  blankly  on  the  diamond-pattern  of 

tl.e  strip  of  home-„.ade   carpet   she   is  treading. 

Then  suddenly  she  glanees  up,  and  her  shrinking 

eyes  t.-ike  in  the  whole  scene.  "niiuKing 

The  ruddy  afternoon  glow  fills  the  roou. :  there 
house  of  .nournmg.     ft  creeps  in  at  the  side-win- 

flitl'ch!    I"    1        '"■''''"  "^  eay  geraniums,  and 
flits  cheer,  y  about,  until  it  reaches  a  table  drawn 

ong,  and  stjl,  and  stiff,  beneath  the  straight  white 
tolds  of  a  sheet. 

The  mother  is  seated  on  the  farther  side  of  it 
She  does  not  heed  the  tearful  women  round  her^ 
she  does  not  see  Milicent,  who  has  withdrawn  he^ 

aturtlli'^''"'"'"'''"'^"''^^''"^'^''^*'^ 
The  mother  is  not  trembling.     The  child  might 
have  been  asleep,  for  all  the  sign  she  gives.     She 
s.ts  there  as  she  might  have  sat  beside  his  crib 
not  so  many  years  ago  smoothing  the  sheet  slowly 
and  slowly  over  the  still  form,  as  she  might  have 
smoothed  the  coverlet  above  her  slumberrng  litd: 
one.     But  she  is  not  looking  at  it.     With  stony 
blue  eyes,  and  round,  dazed  face,  out  of  which  the 
rudcty  bloom  has  fled,  she  is  staring  straight  across 
fte  dead  ehdd  s  body,  to  the  opposite  wall :  to  the 
picture  of  the  late  Captain  Featherstone's  tomb 


«• 


142 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


i  .  ii  I 


To  Milicent,  that  picture,  with  its  weeping-wil- 
low  and  its  dioopinfr  momnor,  inin-ht  bo  merely  a 
dismal  tliin^r  to  shiver  over  ;  as  to  Urciuhart,  it  has 
been  sometliing  (puiint,  for  a  kindly  laujrh.  But 
Mrs.  Featherstone  must  find  sometliing  more  than 
just  a  work  of  art  to  be  proud  of :  for  her  lips  are 
moving,  tliough  no  sound  comes  from  them. 

The  ink  of  the  lines  written  on  the  imaoinary 
tombstone  of  the  man  who  lies  under  the  sea  is 
not  yet  brown  with  time ;  some  one  standing  on 
that  side  of  the  room,  and  observing  the  direction 
of  Mrs.  Featherstone's  eyes,  reads  them  off,  in  a 
high-pitched  tone  of  exhortation  :  -- 

*     "Death  reaps  the  field, 
And  fislica  the  sea, 
And  carries  from  both 
To  the  Fur  Coimtrie  ; 
For  the  Lord  of  tlie  sea  and  the  land  to  keq), 
Till  the  Trump  wake  the  sea  and  tiie  land  from  sleep." 

But  the  moth'jr  gives  no  token  that  she  hears ; 
and  one  of  the  women  says,  in  a  troubled  way, 
"  Pity  the  neighbors  have  taken  the  children  off. 
If  the  poor  soul  could  turn  to,  and  take  a  hearty 
good  cry,  it  would  be  the  best  thing  for  her." 

*'  For  it 's  just  a  vale  of  tears,"  one  placid  body 
improves  the  occasion  by  observing,  as  she  lifts  the 
corner  of  her  apron  to  wipe  away  an  imaginary 
drop,  — "just  a  vale  of  tears,  and  it's  not  for  us 
to  set  store  on  anything  in  it,  and  to  make  us 
idols  "  — 

^  "  There,  there !  "  A  sharp-faced  woman,  the  hard 
lines  about  her  mouth  grown  tremulous,  pushes 
past  the  speaker  impatiently.     « When  the  good 


PJl.OT  FORTUNE. 


143 


God  g,ve,  one  of  „s  an  innocent  like  that  to  love, 
It  s  f  we  duin  t  love  it,  He'd  be  angry  with  u. 
See  ),e..e,  you  poor  thing,  I  Ve  fetch:,!  you  in  a 
:;;;:  -!  '"]  y--  '>••«•  -I'-'y  «•'  <>"*.     Jusl  try  on! 

one  that ,.,  ,Wly  stroking  <l„wn  a  foH  \i  tl  e  shLt! 
she  answers  Milieenfs  wondering  look  hy  a  si^I^  f. 

nu,"   fm"";';'""  ""/''o-l'"'-  1'"'-'-  aehlld's 
mug,  gilt  and  flowered. 

At  her  toueh_or  perhaps  the  fumes  of  the  tea 

ousn,g  s„„,e  association  whi,-h  words  fail  to  reach 

-the  mother  turns  and  looks  at  the  mug  in  her 

neighbor's  hand.  "        ^^ 

voile  '""  Tl""',  ^r,'"™',"  '''"  ""y^ '"  =>  ^"^^  ''^"'"^d 

heait,  _  hke  us  father  _  and  I  'U  never  make  an- 
other cup  for  him  " 

As  at  that  thought,  she  bursts  into  a  passion  of 
tears     And  indeed,  descending  to  bathos  as  it  may 
-not  that  th..  thought  in  every  stricken  moS 
iieait, — no  more  work  for  flip  lUfio  ^ 
tender  eares  ?  *''  """'  ""  """^ 

her  sobs,  _    the  eruel  sea  that  has  no  heart  in  it ! 
Ihe  lad  was  never  content  with  a  Brm  floor  and  no 

hf'7b  r  """"^  '""  ™  ^^'"''  -"-«  I  -o"H 
And  to  thmk  It's  these  two  years  we've  knocked 
fatherl  f "'  "'""^  '">*  '"  ^"se  him  by  it,  like  his 

As  the  poor  woman  covers  her  face,  sobbing, 
Mihcents  cold  hands  turn  back  a  come-  -    ■ 


•'*         VXX^ 


144 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


sheet,  and  she  stands  and  looks  down  into  the  face 
of  the  child  for  whom  her  lover  might  have  died. 

Poor  little  Dickon!  That  long,  still  form  is 
not  like  his.  But  this  face,  with  the  wet  curls 
about  the  dimpled,  sunburnt  cheek  — 

Poor  little,  merry-hearted  fellow  —  he  might  be 
lying  here  asleep ! 

Milicent  stoops,  and  lays  her  warm  lips  to  the 
cold,  calm  brow.  And  with  that  strange  touch 
thrilling  through  and  through  her,  she  lets  Stephen 
lead  her  to  the  inner  door,  and  open  it  for  her. 

She  hardly  knows  that  he  has  not  followed  her 
in,  she  has  gone  so  quickly  forward,  and  is  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  couch  where  Urquhart  lies. 

He  does  not  open  his  eyes  at  once:  when  he 
does,  and  sees  who  it  is  that  has  come  in  to  him,  he 
closes  them  again. 

Milicent  waits  a  moment ;  then  she  almost  whis- 
pers, — 

"  It  is  I.     Do  you  not  know  me  ?  " 

He  opens  his  eyes  again  at  that,  and  looks 
across  at  her,  where  she  stands  blushing  before 
him,  and  smiling  —  with  a  quiver  about  the  lips 
fresh  from  kissing  the  drowned  boy  her  lover 
nearly  died  to  save. 

"  Know  you  ?  Yes,  I  know  you,"  he  says  bit- 
terly, at  last.  "  Why  do  you  come  here  to  me, 
Milicent?  Would  you  have  come  just  so,  if  I  had 
died  the  death  you  sent  me  to  ?  " 

She  stares  as  if  she  cannot  understand.  Then, 
very  slowly,  — 

"I  —  sent  you  to ? " 


4       \ 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


145 


"  y°"  sof  me  to,-witliout  one  word,  one  breath 
to  hold  me  back  from  the  death  Wrank  your  eyes' 
bade  me  go  upon.     Mind  you,"  he  sayl,  raiaW 
himself  on  his  elbow,  further  to   ernl^ITZ 

case.  God  forbid  that  I  could  have  stood  aside 
and  seen  that  child  swept  to  its  fate  alone.  But' 
that  you -you  who  knew  the  danger  even  bette 
than  I -you  who  should  have  had  a  woman's 
hear^  .„  your  breast  for  your  lover,  _  that  you 
should   have  sent  me  to  my  death,  without  on! 

metcT-  -  ""  ''^  '"^^  ^*'"  "''"'"  --  '»  hoU 
"Come,  MiUy."     It  i^    Stephen's    voice    that 
speaks  to  the  trembling  girl.     "  The  doctor  is  ^re 
They  sent  across  to  the  Cove  for  him  ;  he  is  iust 
commg  :„."     Then  quietly  to  Urquha  t,  as  if  he 

trance .  He  is  commg  to  see  you,  Urquhart :  but 
I  am  not  sure  that  MiUy  here  has  not  the  greater 
need  of  him.  I  found  her  kneeling  on  the  ro4 
wliere  you  had  left  her,  more  dead  than  alive." 

fehe  does  not  seem  to  hear  his  words:  but  Ur- 
quhart's  "  Milicent !  "  draws  her  to  him. 

tonetn.t  '^'f"''"''''  ^"'o^'  speaking  in  an  under- 
tone  m  the  outer  room. 

Milicent  draws  her  hands  swiftly  away  from 
Urquhart,  and  turns  her  wet  face  round  upon 
btephen :  and  they  go  away  together. 

to  UrqutS"  ''"""  *'''*  """  ""  S'^^"  ""«'  ''-^ 

10 


IX. 


i ;; 


h 


I  i 


m 


"Piishoff  the  boat, 

Quit,  quit  the  shore, 
The  stars  will  guide  us  back. 

O  gathering  cloud, 
O  wide,  wide  sea, 

O  waves  that  keep  no  track !  " 

An  undulating  bank  of  green,  against  the  sky ; 
a  tiny  harbor  deepening  between  jagged  black 
fangs  of  rock,  foaming  as  the  waves  fling  over 
them  ;  the  island  edged  with  black  where  the  sea 
laves  it;  and,  above,  the  russet-brown  trap-rock 
rising  in  flights  of  steps  and  blocks,  and  here  and 
there  a  broken  shaft,  to  the  grassy  summit.  A  low 
crest  of  spruce  and  fir  darkening  this  — 

"  Is  this  your  Birthday  Island,  Milicent  ?  "  asks 
Urquhart,  when,  after  a  couple  of  hours'  run  before 
the  wind,  Stephen  makes  ready  to  take  in  sail.  "  I 
had  no  idea  it  was  so  large  a  bit  of  land  as  this. 
Are  you  sure  it  is  devoid  of  water  ?  " 

"  There  is  not  a  drop  of  fresh  water  on  it,  so 
luckily  it  can  never  be  inhabited,"  says  Milicent. 
"  There  is  no  inch  of  it  Stephen  and  I  have  not 
explored ;  you  see,  every  one  of  my  birthdays  we 
keep  here,  like  this  one,  by  a  gypsy  tea-party.  But 
you  run  no  risk  of  suffering  from  thirst;  for  I  have 
a  kettle  of  water,  and  intend  to  make  a  famous 
cup  of  tea,  which  you  will  remember  all  the  rest  of 
your  life.'"' 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  147 

"Nevertheless,  I  wish  I  had  brewed  a  bowl  of 
IZi'Z  'n'""','  ""^  <='''^''*-     Tea  is  bu    poo 

ness      The  day  ,s  perfect,  the  wind  in  the  rieht 
Ursula  s  unwonted  good-speed  had  sounded  like  a 

WW.  tL  t.     "•  """'  """^  "''""«'•  ">  "«  -  little 
with  the  other  ,„  attentions  to  her,  is  enough  to 

rn  awxserhead  than  Milieent's :  though  fha^ 
^s  natura   drawbacks,  as  appears  when  Urquhart 

fhr-on    4.'  1      .      ,  ^^^y  Stephen   can  drive 

three  sticks  m  the  P-ronnrl  i«  +i  . 

tue  grouna  m  the  most  annrnvorl 

b7u'.*r  r ' "  •  '"t  ^^^^  ^-'>-'  "^-^' 

st^L  ,  '^'"T"'  ^°'  experimental  hanging 

Stephen  can  best  decide  where  the  fire  should  £ 

yet  Have  sufficient  draught.     As  the  hamper  is  his 
own,  packed  by  himself,  he  is  certainly  The  p  ope 
e^ry  doTS/*'     f?  ?  '"«  "K^  Principle' X 

t^^I'ir*'"  "'.  »  «°'»'"--     But  Milicent  I 
.•  .....a  .-.ush,  aaa  darmg  enough,  to  make  the 


148 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


■y    ' 


si  I  ■ 
1 : 


lii  i; 


effort  with  a  belief  in  her  own  saccess.  She  flits 
about,  seeking  discoveries  of  something  hidden 
safely  away  the  year  before,  for  future  use ;  or  mak- 
ing allusions  to  events  of  some  precious  expedition : 
allusions  which  have  to  be  explained  to  TJrquhart, 
when  they  sound  trite,  and  scarcely  worth  the 
trouble  of  repetition. 

^  Perhaps  Urquhart  might  have  borne  with  equa- 
nimity the  fact  that  there  is  a  large  part  of  Mili- 
cent's  life  with  which  Stephen  is  very  closely  asso- 
ciated, if  she  had  not  declared  him  awkward  and 
decidedly  in  her  way,  and  ended  by  blandly  ad- 
vising him  to  make  himself  comfortable  under  the 
shade  of  a  fir-bush,  until  she  had  prepared  the  tea, 
and  had  time  to  wait  upon  him.  Urquhart  could 
not  deny  his  awkwardness ;  no  doubt  he  was  doing 
more  to  retard  than  to  help ;  but  while  Milicent  is 
carrying  her  fox  safely,  her  goose  is  in  mischief. 

Urquhart  has  thrown  himself  down  on  an  un- 
comfortable rock,  his  face  turned  seaward,  pretend- 
ing to  enjoy  a  cigar,  but  in  reality  chafing  and 
irritating  himself  because  he  was  born  without 
eyes  in  the  back  of  his  head. 

When  Milicent  comes  to  him,  and  with  a  little 
rustic  courtesy  announces  tea,  he  does  not  look  at 
her,  nor  move  in  the  smallest  degree ;  but  goes  on 
smoking,  and  watching  the  gulls  flying  landward. 

"  Come  and  see  how  nice  everything  is,"  urges 
Milicent,  flushed  and  pleased  with  her  rural  house- 
keeping. 

"Thanks,"  says  Urquhart,  stiL  not  looking  at 
her.     "  I  am  not  in  the  least  hungry." 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  149 

"But  something  might  tempt  you.  We  have 
cWken,  duck,  a  fish-pie  "  _  a„d  she  runs  ovir 
gMy  <,u.te  a  list  of  dainties,  which  do  sound  I^ 
pe..mg  after  an  early  luneh  followed  by  a  long 
sa.l  Urquhart  is  hung,y,  _  q„ite  famished  hf 
would  have  said,  if  his  ill-hulr  had  not  oUr! 
come  Ins  appet.te ;  but  he  sits  quite  still,  observing 
the  perturbed  flight  of  the  gulls.  °«»"ng 

"Are  you  ill? "  asks  MiUcent,  a^iously. 

"  Not  m  the  least." 

"  Has  anything  happened  to  you  '  " 

mat  fo^e^ly":''  ^'°"'<'^'«  ^*  *"''  ^-*-.  ""' 

expe  ted   to  olfer  you  one,"  flashes  out  Milicent. 

But  I  should  think  that  on  my  birthday,  and  the 

las   one  here,  and  when  I  have  done  everylhing  "  _ 

You  might  do  more  than  you  do,"  savs  Ur 

quhart,  at  last  looking  up  at  her,  with  some  qualms" 

birthdT"'""''  '*"*  ""'''"''  ^"^  "•''*  '*  '^  ''«■• 

"I  thought  something  lay  astern  of  your  loss  of 
appetite,"  declares  Milicent,  with  a  laugh.   "  Please 

t!l^:^j''''-     ^'-'-^IWdone! 

"  I  really  do  not  mind  being  called  awkward  and 
useless,  for  I  have  not  the  slightest  talent  for  house- 
keeping  like  some  men  I  know."     Of  course  he 
mea^  Stephen      J.  But  that  is  scarcely  sufficien 
ground  for  you  to  leave  me  alone  for  a  whole  hour 

^^.Ueyou^  spend  it  in  flirting  with  Fergiison  over  a 


150 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


it     ; 


"  It  has  not  been  a  half  hour,  if  the  sun  is  cor- 
rect." Milicent  glances  at  the  luminary,  and  then 
adds  gravely,  "  How  can  you  be  so  foolish  ?  I 
have  been  trying  to  keep  Stephen  from  remember- 
ing this  is  his  last  birthday  feast.  Hereafter  I 
must  look  to  you  for  them." 

"You  are  always  doling  out  your  attentions 
scrupulously ;  so  much  for  my  share,  and  then  a 
justly  even  measure  for  Ferguson.  Now,  Fergu- 
son has  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  witli  you." 

"Hush!"   she  says,  quickly.     "He  may  hear 

you." 

"  If  he  does,  it  will  make  no  difference,  especially 
as  I  intend  to  tell  him  the  same  thing  myself,"  re- 
plies Urquhart,  not  lowering  his  voice  a  tone. 

"  What  will  you  tell  him  ?  That  you  object  to 
my  doling  out  to  him  a  little  friendship,  when  he 
has  been  so  kind  ?  Why  should  you  be  so  miserly, 
when  I  have  given  you  "  — 

^  "  What  have  you  ever  given  me  ?     Only  your 
liking,  you  told  me  once." 

"But   that  was   some  time  ago.     Time   brings 
change  — sometimes,"  says  Milicent,  sententiously. 
"  And  I  have  gained  a  little  by  time  and  its 
changes?"  asks  Urquhart,  leisurely. 

"  You  forge  ahead  rather  fast,"  says  Milicent, 
laughing  and  blushing.  "  Yet  this  I  will  con- 
fess," —  seeing  his  face  fall:  "  I  think  it  is  much 
nicer  to  love  than  to  like." 

"  At   last  you  have  learned  it !  "   exclaims  Ur- 
quhart, with  effusion,  as  he  springs  to  his  feet. 
But  Milicent  as  quickly  moves  away  towards  the 


re- 


f 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  15J 

table-rock  where  tea  h  .served,  and  where  Stephen 
.s  patiently  waiting  for  them.    "  That  is  riRht'' she 
says  nodding  saucily  as  she  looks  over  herlho'nlder 
at  Urqnhart.     "  I  was  very  sure  you  were  hungry 
languishing  as  you  seemed  to  be  " 

Urquhait  thinks  the  tea  Milicent  has  drawn  the 
best  he  ever  tasted ;  but  Stephen  deteets  a  sligh 
flavor  of  smoke,  -a  flavor  not  generally  approf^d 
^  te^Iovers.     The  tea-room  is  ;erfeet  :^irsr^1 
green  isW  set  in  a  waste  of  aqua  marine ;  ou 
farther,  beyond  soundings,  the  water  a  deep  blue 
Behind  them,  the  few  houses  straggling  up  Ae  is^^ 

£lf  ''.'T"  ^'""  *-Pl/eut "against  i 
.  ac  sky ;  and  the  sun,  round  and  glowing  like  a 

meal ;  until  at  last  Milieent  decLes  there  is  nTa 
drop  of  water  in  the  kettle,  and  that  they  must  be 
preparing  to  return.  '' 

"What  a  dreadful  waste  a  feast  is ! "  she  re 
marks  as  she  makes  ready  to  repaek  the  hamper. 

There  spoke  Miss  Ursula's  own  nieee,"  de- 
dares  Stephen,  laughing.  "Cannot  you  manage 
the  'remainder  biseuit  after  the  voyage'?  Th! 
feast  IS  yours,  you  know." 

tn  It'"^  \T  *'  '""P  '"'"'<=  "^  «'«  cWcken-bones 
to-morrow  ?     suggests  Urquhart. 

.    ?™y  =*  *™«  word  is  spoken  in  jest.     That  is 
ust  what  Aunt  Ursula   would   do,  'if  I  p„     the 

chicken  bank  Into  ^-h'^  i .- ^^  \  -^       P"''    ^-ue 

I.,  ,a^  xiauiper ;  and  it  would  be  a 


152 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


very  good  soup.  But  I  have  a  desire  to  make  an 
end  of  our  feast,  not  to  have  a  second  edition  of 
it  to-morrow,  —  just  as  I  have  heard  of  friends 
breaking  the  ghisses  from  wliich  tliey  have  drunk  a 
toast.  Very  extravagant,  no  doubt ;  but  sentiment 
is  generally  a  spendthrift." 

"  It  will  be  a  tremendous  waste,"  says  Urquhart, 
leaning  on  his  elbow  at  her  feet,  and  laughing  up 
at  her  as  she  stands  with  the  heaped  plate  in  both 
hands,  the  sunset  shining  in  her  eyes  and  in  the 
bright,  breeze-roughened  hair.  Afterwards,  to  both 
men  will  come  back,  with  added  meaning  in  it, 
the  picture  she  makes  there,  against  the  glowing 
background  of  the  sea. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  with  it?  Stephen,  do  you 
remember  Aunt  Ursula  used  to  tell  you,  when  you 
wasted  the  bread  she  gave  you,  because  it  was  not 
buttered,  that  some  day  you  would  wish  for  a  piece 
of  bread?  I  feel  horribly  like  Aunt  Ursula  at 
this  waste,  and  recall  all  kinds  of  ill  omens  to  the 
wasters." 

"  Let  the  gulls  have  it,  Milly.  They  are  always 
needy  beggars,"  suggests  Stephen;  and  then  he 
adds,  "  What  a  stir  they  are  making !  They 
ought  to  be  roosting,  instead  of  keeping  up  such  a 


noise. 


"  There  must  be  a  storm  coming.  At  any  rate, 
we  ought  to  be  off.  I  will  have  the  china  packed 
by  the  time  you  have  the  yacht  ready." 

"  A  storm  !  "  exclaims  Urquhart.  "  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  Milicent  ?  I  never  saw  a  clearer 
sky,  nor  less  sign  of  a  change  in  the  weather." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


153 


^  -^^^  gulls  are  wiser  than  we.  Besides,  the  sun 
IS  settnig  ominously  red.  We  can  manage  to  get 
up  a  blow  at  short  notice  in  these  waters.  Please 
make  haste,  Stephen,"  urges  Milicent,  uneasily. 

"  There  is  no  use  in  starting  until  the  tide  turns, 
tor  the  little  wind  has  almost  died  out,  and  will 
haixlly  help  us.  Do  not  mind  the  gulls;  they  are 
foolish  birds,"  says  Stephen,  cheerfully. 

"  Proverbially  so.  Will  you  smoke  ?  "  Urquhart 
proposes  to  liim. 

The   two   men   stroll  off,   leaving  Milicent   to 
repack  the  hamper.     When  she  has  finished,  she 
comes  and  seats  herself  by  Urquhart,  who  takes 
this  his  first  opportunity  to  whisper  in  her  ear  some 
soft  words  of   thanks  as  well  as  approbation,  for 
her  confession  that  it  is  better  to  love  than  to  like 
^    It  is  a  confession  he  would  not  often  entrap  her 
into  making.     Milicent  has  her  moods,  sometimes 
ot  the  imperative ;  but  there  is  always  the  bright- 
est  sunshine  after  a  storm.     Never  a  cold,  murky 
sky,  well  named  sullen,  depresses  Urquhart's  love 
Capricious  clouds  and  fitful  gusts,  he  is  very  sure 
o± ;  an  electric  shock  at  times ;  but  in  the  end  they 
prove  beneficial  to  his  atmosphere. 

As  an  on-looker  (which  Stephen  has  taught 
himself  IS  his  only  part  now,  after  what  he  be- 
lieved  to  be  Milicent's  confession  of  love  for  Ur 
quhart,  that  day  she  said  the  cottage  must  not  be 
her  home)  Stephen  might  very  well  have  thought 
Milicent  cared  most  for  him.  If  when  what  to 
btephen  seems  a  lover's  quarrel  rises  like  a  small 
cloud  between   them,  as   it  blows   over,  Milicent 


164  I' I  LOT  FORTUNK. 

would  be  very  graoioua,  and  would  meet  Uvquhart 
nearly  half-way  towards  a  reconciliation,  8h<^  never 
goes  meekly  the  whole  way,  and  says  she  is  sorry, 
as  she  does  with  her  old  friend.  Her  old  friend, 
Stei)hen  says  to  himself,  bitterly  ;  convinced  that 
there  is  less  friendliness  in  her  feeling  foi-  Ur- 
quhart,  and  that  the  past  is  a  sealed  book  he 
dares  not  open,  save  in  dreaming  over  it  alone. 

Stephen  has  stretched  himself  on  the  grass,  a 
little  way  from  the  two,  and  has  his  eyes  shut,  so 
they  think  he  is  asleep ;  that  is,  if  they  think  very 
much  about  him.  For  Milicent  is  absorbed  in 
listening  to  Urquhart's  low-spoken  words  ;  some- 
times whispering  back  to  him,  until  he  is  per- 
suaded that  the  birthday  festival  is  not  at  all  a 
failure,  as  he  once  decided  it. 

Suddenly  there  comes  a  soft  "  rip-rapse,  rip- 
rapse,"  against  the  rocks  ;  and  Stephen,  who  is 
very  far  from  l;eing  asleep,  and  who  has  only 
good-naturedly  kept  himself  out  of  the  way,  knows 
that  the  tide  has  turned.  Presently  an  odd,  sob- 
bing sound  in  the  freshening  wind  causes  him  to 
open  his  eyes,  and  spring  to  his  feet.  As  the  sun 
dips  down,  the  wind  is  rising,  and  that  is  a  ragged 
brown  cloud  which  is  driving  before  it. 

"There  is  a  squall  coming,  but  we  had  better 
catch  it  here,"  Stephen  says  to  Urquhart,  who  is 
observing  nothing  farther  from  him  than  Milicent. 

"  It  seems  very  far  off,  ana  night  is  so  near. 
You  lomember  we  have  no  moon." 

"  There  will  only  be  the  danger  of  a  thorough 
wetting,  even  if  we  remain  here  all  night,"  replies 
btcplicn. 


Pir.OT  FORTUNE. 


165 


"Miiicent  could  not  possiMy  remain  here  aU 
wUh  iieat'  "  **  '°  "^"""^^  '*'"  ™^''  ^'■l"'""''. 

"That  is  a  very  ugly  clo.ul,  Stephen!  "  exclaims 
Mihceut  who  has  been  intent  on  looking  up  some 
small  artuaes,  an<l  paeking  thorn,  so  has  Lt  re- 
]ome<I  the  two  men.  "  What  had  we  best  do  ?  Is 
It  safe  to  start  ?  " 

She  naturally  turns  to  Stephen  for  advice ;  for 
he  IS  not  only  the  better  sailor,  but  he  knows  per- 
fectly the  weather-signs  which  nature  hangs  out  for 
the  manner's  guidance. 

Her  reliance  upon  Stephen's  judgment  irritates 
Urquhart,  who  answers  shortly,  — 

"We  will  be  compelled  to  start.  A  capful  of 
wmd  won't  hurt  us." 

" 'Blow  risks  !  ■  Mr.  Urquhart  would  like  to  be 
nautical  enough  to  say,"  puts  in  the  girl,  slyly. 
^  Ihe  tide  too  is  in  our  favor,"  he  hurries  on. 
We  U  get  m  before  the  storm  breaks.  We 
must  be  quick,  though.  Come  on,  Miiicent,  don't 
stop,  he  adds,  authoritatively ;  for  she  has  started 
forward  to  put  out  the  smouldering  fire 

bui.n^t  '•  T*  T  *'   "*   "^  '"'""ff  *'«'  t™«^ 
no"'^L:n:e7^^"'^-     "  ^  ^^  »-*— -aie 

Stephen  is  at  once  at  her  side,  and  tramples  out 
the  fire  ;  while  Urquhart  mutters  an  impatient  as 
we  1  as  an  evil-soimding  ejaculation,  and  strides  off 
to  .he  yacht  He  feels  no  particular  sentiment  for 
the  ,sUnd,  that  he  should  scruple  to  consign  the 
trees  to  the  flames. 


156 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


A  moment  afterwards,  Stephen  Hhoulders  the 
hamper,  and  Milicent  follows  close  behind  him. 

"lie  has  not  the  least  idea  of  the  danger  we 
are  running,"  bhe  is  saying,  as  she  hurries  after 
Stei)hen. 

"  It  is  his  boat,"  replies  Stephen  ;  and  he  might 
have  added,  his  sweetheart. 

"What  nonsense!  If  we  are  drowned,  who 
cares  who  owned  the  boat?  " 

"  Urquhart  does  not  like  my  interference  ;  that 
you  can  see  for  yourself  "  —  begins  Stephen. 

"  IIow  slow  you  arc  !  One  would  suppose  you 
had  nothing  more  important  to  do  than  to  talk," 
says  Urquhart  impatiently,  but  to  Milicent,  not 
Stephen. 

"The  most  important  matter  is  to  save  our 
lives,"  replies  Milicent,  quite  coolly,  rejecting  Ur- 
quhart's  hand  stretched  out  to  help  her  into  the 
yacht.     "  I  have  no  intention  of  going  on  board." 

"You  cannot  possibly  spend  the  night  here.  I 
could  not  think  of  permitting  you  to  do  so,"  says 
Urquhart,  again  extending  a  helping  hand. 

Still  Milicent  hesitates;  until  Stephen  says, 
"  We  have  a  chance  to  get  home  before  the  squall 
breaks.  At  any  rate,  we  know  it  is  coming,  and 
will  be  prepared." 

Urquhart  has  put  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  in 
great  wrath  ;  and  walks  to  the  stern  of  the  yacht, 
where  he  stands  with  his  back  to  the  island.  A 
moment  afterwards,  Milicent  joins  him. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  help  Stephen  ?  He  needs 
you,"  she  says,  curtly. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


157 


But  if  Steph( 


want 


<> »» 


needs  help,  Urquhart  does  not 
Iviee.  "  What  is  the  use  in  taking  in  every 
he  asks,  finding  Stephen  making  all  taut 
and  fast.  "  You  might  as  well  give  her  more  help 
from  her  sails.  If  Milieent  were  not  on  board, 
I  would  crowd  on  everything,  and  show  you  the 
Undine's  temper." 

^  "It  is  well,  on  your  own  account,  that  Milieent 
IS  on  board,  then,"  answers  Stephen,  quite  coolly. 
"  That  cloud  will  bring  a  change  of  wind,  and  the 
less  canvas  you  have  to  show,  the  better.  You 
have  seen  nothing  of  our  storms  as  yet:  to-morrow 
you  will  have  had  another  experience." 

"I  have  sailed  in  many  seas.  One  can't  always 
have  a  '  ladies'  wind.'  I  hardly  fancy  your  storms 
are  unique.  It  appears  to  me  our  best  plan  would 
be  to  make  a  dash  for  port,  —  not  get  ready  for  a 
storm  miles  away  as  yet." 

"At  any  rate,  we  do  not  need  two  skippers. 
Ihe  yacht  being  yours,  I  am  under  command," 
says  Stephen  at  once. 

He  is  relieved  to  find  that  since  Urquhart  takes 
the  whole  responsibility  he  is  less  inclined  to  be 
foolhardy  and  venturesome,  and  that  he  only  puts 
out  a  small  show  of  canvas.     But  even  that  flutter 
of  white  makes  Stephen  uneasy.     He  would  much 
rather  have  the  Undine  meet  the  storm  under  bare 
poles.     Yet  with  that  singular  shrinking  from  in- 
terference with  another  man's  rights,  which  men 
show  in  all  professions  and  business,  Stephen  leaves 
Urquhart  to  his  own  devices,  and  goes  to  where 
Mihcent  is  sitting. 


158 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  You  would  be  far  better  in  the  cabin,  MiUy," 
he  tells  her. 

But  the  girl  shakes  her  head  decidedly. 
"  No,  Stephen,  no.     Alone  in  there  ?  " 
"  Two  hands  may  be  wanted  here,  Milly." 
"Then  you  must  keep  me  too.     Ah,  Stephen, 
do  you  think  I  could  bear  it,  to  leave  you  here,  if 
the  storm  should  really  come  ?     I  should  be  fancy- 
mg  all  sorts  of  horrors  in  every  wave,  in  every 
gust  of  wind." 

"  Since  when  have  you  turned  coward,  Miily  ?  " 

But  he  opposes  her  no  longer :  only,  before  he 
takes  the  tiller  from  her,  he  brings  a  tarpaulin, 
and  begms  to  wrap  it  round  her. 

"Wait  until  the  storm  comes,  Stephen;  it  is  so 
heavy,"  pleads  Milicent. 

"  It  is  here  already,  Milly." 

Stephen  is  right :  the  storm  is  upon  them.     He 
has  hardly  finished  speaking,  when  the  great  drops 
are  pelting  down  out  of  the  gathering  blackness 
overhead.      They  wet  the  two  men  in  an  instant. 
There  is  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  and  a  burst  of 
thunder  from  that  overhanging  cloud,  which  appall 
Mihcent,  unused  to   thunderstorms :   until  she  is 
glad  to  hide  her  eyes  under  the  tarpaulin's  fold. 
When  she  shrinkingly  peers  forth  again,  the  gust 
of  rain  has  passed  ]  but  the  wind  has  increased  in 
fury,  and  she  can  just  dimly  see,  through  the  low- 
ering darkness,  that  Urquhart  has  had  perforce  to 
take  Stephen's   advice,   and   is   furling  even  the 
close-reefed  foresail. 

Milicent's  presence  has  not  prevented  a  trial  of 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


)> 


159 


the  little  yacht's  temper.  Buffeted  by  the  waves, 
and  dnven  by  the  wind,  which  Urquhart's  small 
show  ot  cloth  made  more  dangerous,  the  Undine  is 
about  as  manageable  as  the  fisherman  and  his  wife 
tound  their  beautiful  changeling.  AH  that  can  be 
done  IS  to  let  her  lie  breasting  the  heavy  seas,  un- 
der bare  poles. 

The  wind  changed  to  the  northward  of  east, 
when  the  squall  blew  up;  and  under  the  pitch- 
back  sky  the  great  waves  are  bearing  the  yacht 
like  a  toy  away  to  the  south  westward,  —  away  from 
home,  and  down  into  the  howling  solitudes  of  the 
Atlantic. 

Pitch-black  the  night  is,  overhead,  as  the  lonff 
hours  go  by;  and  all  around,  the  moan  and  rush 
of  foaming  swirls,  closing  about,  and  threatenino- 
to  bury  the  Undine.  With  every  moment,  she 
dips  and  ships  a  flood  over  her  bow  ;  and  when  she 
sinks  her  stern,  the  waves  that  chase  her  leap  as  if 
to  spring  over  the  rail.  It  is  as  if  those  great 
waves  were  toying  with  the  fragile  thing:  playing 
with  her  as  a  cat  plays  with  a  mouse,  before  deal 
mg  the  death-blow. 

Once  or  twice,  Stephen  has  glanced  across  in  the 
direction  of  the  cabin:  would  not  Milicent  be  safer 
there?  But  how  would  she  bear,  alone,  the  Un- 
dine s  laboring,  her  frantic  plunges,  baited  as  she 
IS  Dy  all  those  clamorous  waves  ?  "  No  —  no  "  — 
she  answers  breathlessly,  when  Stephen,  by  dint  of 
shouting,  conveys  to  her  what  he  would  have  her  do. 

ihere  is  a  moment's  pause  ;  and  then  : 


Urquhart  shall  take  care  of 


you  there,  Milly 


>> 


■J> 


I 


160 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


he   makes   her  ..nderstan.l,   whether  or  not   she 
catches  half  the  words      "r)n«;.  „        i   .  , 

the  Uudine  here."  """"«''  *°  ^"'"'^ 

But  the  girl  only  repeats  her  passionate  refusal  • 
and  indeccl,  would  she  be  safer  there?  ItTs  a 
question  „o,.e  eo.Ud  answer ;  while  no  doubt  to  be 
shut  .„  „  the  eabin,  with  the  skylight  closed  and 
the  eompamon  shut,  would  be  like  lying  i„  one's 
grave  at  the  day  of  doon,,  while  the' whole  eaTtl 
quakes  and  trembles  above  and  around.  At  leas 
«o:t  seems  to  Milieent's  shuddering  fancy.  ' 

bo  the  three  keep  all  together  where  they  are 
It  >s  n„po.s,ble  to  talk;  they  do  not  even  see'^erh 
other ;  all  that  they  can  see,  and  dimly,  is  the 
threatenmg  foam  as  it  flies  past  them,  alm'^st  over! 
head  and  confounds  then,  with  the  sense  of  their 
own  helplessness  and  hopelessness.  It  is  hard 
enough  for  the  two  men ;  but  for  Milicent  - 
Milicent  "  — 

She  cannot  hear  him  speak  to  her;  but  she  is 
g  a.1  to  feel  her  lover's  presence  in  the  darkness 

IJiquhart  has  thro™  his  arm  around  her  and 
holds  her  fast,  so  that  they  shaU  not  be  s  ^arate J 
even  m  death.  Stephen  also  is  close  to  her,  -  a. 
far  as  life  apart.  ' 

Stephen's  hand  clenches  with  a  grip  upon  the 
tiller,  and  steadies  itself  there. 

In  all  this  blackness  of  darkness,  there  is  bnt 

one  eould  hve  long  „i  sueh  a  sea  as  this.     Death 
must  come  after  a  very  brief  struggle,  he  is  surj 


i 


f    I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


161 


even  for  himself :  and  he  is  the  strongest  of  the 
three.     And  there  is  no  marrying  nor  giving  in 
marriage,  in  that  safe  harbor  they  seem  bound  to. 
ile  will  no  longer  have  to  stand  aside  and  make 
way  for  Urquhart.     There  will  be  no  more  heart- 
burnings and  jealousy,  such  as  he  is  undergoing 
now :  for  in  the  darkness  and  fury  of  the  storm! 
he  knows  Mihcent  and  Urquhart  are  clinging  to 
each   other,   and   neither   is   altogether  wretched, 
even  with  death  so  near.     Stephen  would  willingly 
die  to  have  those  arms  clinging  to  him. 

But  he  puts  away  these  thoughts  from  him  with 
a  great  dread.  Would  not  Milicent  suffer  an  un- 
told  torture,  even  in  a  short  death  ?  Little  Millv, 
his  p  aymate  and  only  love !  Is  this  to  be  the  end 
ot  all  her  prettiness  and  charm,  that  have  made 
the  only  two  men  she  has  known  love  her  '^ 

He  sees  her  struggling  in  the  hungry  maw  of 
every  wave  that  is  turning  up,  livid  and  foaming, 
out  of  the  wide-reaching  darkness.  He  heavs  her 
sinking' wail  in  every  far-drawn  soughing  of  the 
wind,  that  only  falls  back  to  gather  strength  anew. 
Little  Milly- and  he  cannot  save  her,  cannot 
even  die  for  her.     While  this  Urquhart  - 

.T.  .  A^!f  ^'^"^  ''  ^  '*''^^^  *"^^''  «*^'^"g«r  than  he 
that  taketh  a  city:  he  puts  that  thought  out  of  his 

cTelitr  h^r  ""'^  Lilly's  God,    who    only  can 

So  the  moments  go  by,  each  black  with  the 
shadow  of  death.  But  one  there  comes,  with  a 
special  horror  of  its  own.  It  is  when  the  Undine 
quivers  with  a  fiercer  wrench  and  jar:  when  the 


162 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


haa    «nofnl.^l    1    •  •  -^     •         -^^^^    *"e   Wind 

Tl,\   1,       1  Urquhart's  wet  sleeve  that  his  out- 
stretched hand  has  touched. 

Light  dawns  on  the  darkp^f  lir.,,..  u  •       •  i 
after  that,  little  by  littk  tt        ■,'      "  "^'^  '' ''"'' 
furv  nf   fL  7  '     '*  '""<'  ''™«'S  off'  the 

tury  of  the  sea  begins  to  die  away.     The  Itars 

strugg  e  out  through  clouds  that  veer  about- Ind 

rr^rsSrirrv'T'^''^'^'-' 

ftxunmg.     And  though  the  sea    <jfin 

jnto  a  perfect  caln,,  when  it  had  been  L   ho" 
ashing  xtself  into  the  wildest  fury?     Neithe    cl 
the  passionate  eager  heart  soothe  itself  by  a  mere 
longing,  into  the  saint's  tranquillity 

Whither  will  the  Undine  now  be  driycn  ?  And 
where  are  they?  The  great  Atlantic  gives  them  no 
hint  as  she  roelcs  them  on  her  broad  Lsoni         " 

been  d  iven  ycry  far  to  sea,  he  thinks:    the  Un- 
toTteeVby^'ItT''"*"; '  """'  *''^^  '-™  "^  ^*- 

rertuL,ta7i  :;^stl:r™''- 
that  the  others  may  not  g„Ls  StrirS 

itSermTsfw'r-*^'^'---- 


PILOT  FORTUNE,  163 

"Must  we  drift  so  helplessly?  The  wind  seems 
to  have  veered,  in  clearing,"  says  Urquhart,  with  a 
glance  at  the  pole-star,  as  the  clouds  clear  away 

But  Stephen  only  returns,  »  Wait  for  sunrise;" 
and  Urquhart,  who  is  candid  enough  to  know  the 
other  has  proved  himself  the  better  sailor  of  the 
two,  has  nothing  to  answer,  and  sits  silent  at  Mili- 
cent  s  side,  while  Stephen  follows  his  lead  in  point- 
mg  out  the  constellations  to  her. 

"  See,  MiUy,  there  comes  out  Mooin  the  Bear  • 
and  there  are  the  Hunters  after  him,  pursuing  him 
to  his  Den  m  Berenice's  Hair.    I  was  just  thinking 
ot  my  hunting-days  among  the  Tusket  lakes,  when 
my  Micmac  guide  and  I  lost  the  trail,  and  found  it 
by  toUowmg  the  Hunters." 
"The  Hunters?"  repeats  Urquhart. 
"Ay.     You  see,  the  Micmacs  know  that  bears 
have  no  tails  to  speak  of,  but  are  apt  to  have  a 
following  of  hunters.    These  all  have  their  names  ; 
and  one  of  them  has  his  kettle  :  see,  the  small  star 
yonder.     MiUy,  do  you  think  that  now  the  stars 
are  out,  and  the  storm  is  over,  you  could  get  a 
little  sleep  m  the  cabin  ?  " 

It  is  still  too  dark  to  see  the  face  she  turns  up  to 
him  as  he  speaks;  but  the  gesture  is  eloquent 
enough  She  has  confronted  death  too  lately,  to 
bear  solitude.  '' 

"  Let  me  stay.  You  know  I  am  well  wrapped, 
and -and  mdeed,  indeed,  I  could  not  stay  alone." 

Urquhart  is  of  opinion  that  Ferguson  needs  rest, 
and  that  he  himself  might  as  well  steer  awhile' 
(with  Mihcent's   help).     But    Stephen   does   not 


illl 


niii 


3!  -iS  ! 


^^^  PILOT  FORTUNE. 

take  the  hint:  to  the  suppressed  indiguation  of  Ur- 
q«l.art,  who  does  not  know  what  relon  Stephen 
has  for  declining  to  relinquish  the  tiller  ^ 

louder  the  circumstanees,  there  is  not  much 
speech  an.ong  them.  The  waves  have  the  hour  to 
themselves,  while  the  stars  flicker  in  their  dyin^ 

morn  ng-star  is  risen,  and  the  day  begun. 

In  her  efforts  to  reassure  Urquhart's  anxiety  that 
night  she  forgot  much  of  her  girlish  shyness,  and 
unwittingly  gave  him  a  deeper  insight  into  her 
feeling  for  h  m  than  he  would  have  discovered  in 
months  of  prd  nu:y  intercourse.    Indeed,  she  m  ght 

some  startling  revelations,  if  Stephen  had  not  been 
there.  For  the  future  is  very  doubtful;  only  the 
present  is  theirs ;  and  all  that  she  had  deferred  or 
a  future  telling,  she  would  have  wished  to  speak 
now.  Only,  what  she  would  have  said  is  meant  for 
Urquhart  s  ear  alone  -  a  death-bed  confession  she 
tells  herself  that  she  can  make  as  well  in  lieTven 

Stephen  s  gi-ave  voice,  when  he  does  speak  ir- 
nta  es  Urquhart  with  the  fear  that  it  may  "nt  to 
MJicent  of  their  danger.  Urquhart  never  tel^ 
she  understands  as  much  of  it  as  he  himself  bu 
asks  no  questions  where  she  is  not  at  all  !!  of 
true  answers.  ^  " 

But  it  is  Stephen  alone,  who  through  these  dark 
hours  faces  the  situation  in  all  its  horror,     mot 

h  nee  is  «  "T,  """''"^   "-   '^--^     ^^ 
chance  ,s  there  of  beuig  found  ?    And  how  long 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


165 


of 


could  they  survive,  with  neither  provisions  nor 
water  ?  Alas  for  the  remnants  of  their  feast,  of 
which  they  cheated  frugal  Miss  Ursula's  soup-pot, 
to  feed  the  gulls.  Miss  Ursula  has  proved  herself 
an  oracle:  and  the  unbuttered  bread  he  once 
scorned,  Stephen  would  now  have  been  thankful 
tor  to  store  away  for  Milicent.  Death  in  a  new 
and  more  dreadful  form  is  before  them. 

Stephen   shudders  at  the  thought  that  one  of 
them  must  survi^  e  the  others.     Not  Milicent,  he 
prays.     There   is  a  fiction  in  law,  that  a  woman 
under    such    circumstances    dies   first.      Stephen 
clings  to  it,  as  if  the  law  were  gospel.    Even  there 
the  great  unselfishness  of  his  love  is  shown ;  for  it 
would  be  harder  for  him  to  see  her  die  than  to  die 
himself.      His   present   foreboding   is   a   Nemesis 
cruelly  punishing  him  for  his  almost  fierce  joy  in 
their  first  danger.     His  fears  are  for  Milicent :  for 
himself,  he  dreads  life  much  more  than  the  death 
that  may  be  very  near  him. 

^  The  morning  comes  very  unexpectedly  to  Mil- 
icent  and  Urquhart :  for  Urquhart's  watch  had 
stopped ;  and  though  he  had  frequently  wondered 
what  time  it  could  be,  Stephen,  who  knew  each 
hour  by  the  stars,  never  hinted  of  this  knowledge 
as  he  did  not  wish  Milicent  to  discover  how  long 
they  had  been  driving  before  the  wind. 

The  sun  rises  red  and  angry  out  of  the  sea.     It 

points  out  the  new  anxiety,  which  Stephen  can  no 

longer  keep  from  Milicent :  it  shows  her  that  the 

rudder  is  gone,  and  the  Undine  helplessly  adrift. 

j-«^j  ^^r  cii,  axtur  tne  first  siiock  of  that 


166 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


ill 


surprise,  it  is  impossible,  at  least  for  Milicent,  not 
to  catch  hope  from  the  bright  face  of  this  new 
day,  that  after  the  long  northern  morning  twilight 
shines  on  them  at  last.     From  the  first  pale  yellow 
"  rose  of  dawn  "  beginning  to  show  itself  out  of 
the  darkness  in  the  east,  where  the  stars  struggle 
and  struggle  and  die  out:  to  the  flames  of  the 'full 
sunrise,  spreading  slowly,  and  deepening  from  east 
to  west  and  north  and  south,  until  the  whole  wide 
sea  takes  up  the  radiance,  wave  after  wave  leaping 
to  catch  it,  and  falling  back  witli  rr'ibow  crest 
and  burnished  hollow,  in  the  level-drifting  beams, 
—  from  first  to  last,  as  Milicent  watches  it,  hope 
dawns  the  brighter  within  her. 

In  truth,  it  is  hard  to  be  afraid  of  the  sea  now  ; 
that  joyous,  dancing,  rushing  sea,  the  sunlight 
flashmg  on  and  through  the  leaping  waves,  that 
bear  the  Undine  over  the  green  hollows  and  the 
frothing  crests.  Stephen  is  making  shift  to  use  an 
oar  for  rudder,  thus  partly  to  avoid  the  rough  sport 
those  saire  merry-seeming  waves  might  otherwise 
make  of  the  yacht :  while  the  sun  mounts  higher 
and  higher,  and  three  pairs  of  eyes  are  scanning 
the  great  wilderness  of  water,  in  search  of  a  wel- 
come sail. 

After  all,  it  is  Milicent  who  first  sights  a  "  three- 
masted  Yankee";  a  schooner,  happily  bearing 
down  towards  the  yacht,  so  that  there  is  but  little 
difficulty  in  hailing  her.  In  less  than  an  hour,  the 
three  are  standing  on  her  deck,  their  adventure 
well  over ;  the  Undine  inade  fast  to  the  stern  by 
a  rope,  and  looking  far  less  battered  and  misused 


i 


I    I' 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


167 


than  they  who  had  ungratefully  doubted  her  sea- 
worthiness. 

The  rough  sailors  are  kind  and  hospitable,  and 
soon  have  tea  made,  which  is  as  nectar  to  the  cast- 
aways, though  sweetened  with  coarse  brown  sugar. 
Milicent's  hard  up-bringing  has  its  advantages 
here.  She  came  out  of  the  fold  of  the  tarpaulin, 
thanks  to  Stephen's  foreiliought,  perfectly  dry; 
ready,  after  her  fast,  to  enjoy  without  squeamish- 
ness  the  sailor's  hard-tack  and  salt  pork.  In  the 
captain's  little  cabin,  with  the  port-hole  shut,  and 
the  green  water  rushing  past  it  as  the  schooner  lies 
well  over,  Milicent  afterwards  throws  herself  down, 
and  soon  sleeps  the  dreamless  sleep  of  the  weary. 

Stephen  and  Urquhart  have  borrowed  from  the 
sailors'  kits  while  their  own  clothes  are  drying:  and 
they  speedily  discover  that  the  nearest  coast  is 
Maine ;  that  the  schooner  is  bound  for  St.  John ; 
that  they  were  a  hundred  miles  from  there  when 
they  were  rescued,  and  if  this  wind  holds  out,  they 
will  be  in  the  harbor  in  the  afternoon.  All  very 
pleasant  to  know,  after  such  a  night  of  anxiety. 

Milicent's  birthday  will  be  an  anniversary  long  to 
be  remembered  by  all  three.  Together  they  have 
passed  into  the  very  shadow  of  death,  and  together 
they  have  come  out  unscathed.  For  this  they 
might  give  a  general  thanksgiving :  yet  each  one 
has  a  special  one.  Urquhart,  that  he  is  at  last 
sure  Milicent  loves  him ;  Milicent,  that  she  knows 
her  own  heart;  and  Stephen,  that  his  wild  wish 
was  not  granted  him,  and  Milicent  is  as  far  as 
usual  from  being  an  angel  or  a  saint. 


X. 


"  Wad  it  something  said, 

Somdlhing  domv 
Vext  hhn  ?  wu»  it  touch  of  liaud, 

Turn  of  head  ? 
Strango  !  tliat  very  way 

Love  begun  — 
I  as  little  understand 

Love's  decay." 

When  Milioent  comes  on  deck,  tlie  harbor  lies 
before  her,  aglitter  in  the  evening  sunlight.  The 
round,  fortress-like  Partridge  Island  is  passed. 
The  city,  with  its  background  of  green  highlands, 
is  rising,  tier  above  tier,  or  its  peninsula  of  rock 
thrust  forward  into  the  Bay  of  Fundy  :  Courtenay 
Bay  to  the  right,  and  to  the  left  the  St.  John  River 
sweeping  snow-drifts  of  foam  along  the  tide,  from 
the  falling  rapids  in  the  gorge  through  which  it 
tears  its  way. 

The  scene  is  a  novel  one  to  Milicent;  she  is 
pleased  as  a  child  with  a  new  toy.  The  gayly 
flagged  ships ;  the  sturdy  tugs  darting  here  and 
there,  with  shrill  whistle  and  loud  puffings ;  the 
ferry-boat  crossing  to  the  Carleton  side  — 

Milicent  follows  this  last  with  her  eyes,  which 
sweep  up  the  green  heights  of  the  Carleton  sub- 
urbs, to  the  old  martello  tower,  whicl.  she  instantly 
pronounces  (erroneously,  but  Stephen  does  not 
care  to  correct  her ;  let  the  child  enjoy  her  little 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


169 


romance)  to  be  the  old  French  fort  defended  by 
Charlotte  de  la  Tour,  under  the  French  domina- 
tion,  aganiHt  her  husband'u  'ival  compatriot,  Char- 
nizay. 

Look ! "  the  girl  cries  to  Stephen, "  it  was  there 
she  drove  away  the  ships  of  Charnizay,  besieging 
her.     And  when  he  came  again,  by  land,  with  her 
handful  of  men  she  kept  his  troops  at  bay  for 
three  long  days;    until   that   Easter  morning,   a 
traitor  sentinel  let  them  scale  the  walls,  and  forced 
her  to  surrender.     And  then  the  wretch,  —  Char- 
nizay,  I  mi^an,  —  what  must  he  do,  the  wretcli,  but 
m  his  rage  at  having  granted  terms  to  a  woman 
backed  by  such  a  mere  handful  of  a  garrison,  he 
broke  them ;  and  he  made  her  stand,  a  rope  about 
her  neck,  to  see  the  execution  of  her  whole  bravo 
garrison.     It  broke  her  heart,  you  know :  she  died 
a  few  days  after." 

As  he  watches  her  shining  eyes  upon  it,  Stephen 
IS  glad  he  d  d  not  set  her  right  as  to  the  fortifica- 
tion ;  since,  of  the  old  French  fort  of  nearly  two 
centuries  ago,  the  site  is  all  that  nov^  remains ;  and 
even  that  is  beyond  Milicent's  range  f  vision  from 
the  schooner's  deck.  And  she  would  not  have  had 
time  to  get  over  her  disappointment,  before  Ur- 
quhart,  w'lo  has  been  talking  to  the  skipper,  comes 
back,  whi  re  she  is  standing  with  Stephen. 

"  Get  your  hat,  Milicent,"  he  says.  «  The  cap- 
tain  has  offered  to  send  us  ashore  in  his  yawl." 

"  I  have  n't  any  hat,"  she  answers.  "  I  tried  to 
save  it  from  bting  crushed  when  Stephen  wrapped 
me  m  the  tarpaulin;  but  the  wind  took  it  out  of 


1    'I 


170 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


my  hands.     It  is  the  only  thing  lost,  so  don't  look 
so  worried." 

"  I  can't  see  wliat  is  to  be  done,  unless  you  wait 
here  with  Stephen  until  I  go  into  tlie  town  and  get 
a  hat  for  you,"  Urquhart  says,  in  a  questioning,  un- 
decided  way. 

"  We  had  better  get  away  from  here  as  soon  as 
we  can,  Unjuhart.  The  captain  is  going  to  unload 
at  once,  and  Milicent  will  be  in  tlio  way." 

"  But  how  can  she  go  without  a  hat  ?  " 

"Of  what  consequence  is  a  hat,  in  comparison 
with  getting  her  away  from  hero  ?  "  Stephen  says, 
knowing  from  experience  much  more  than  Ur- 
quhart  <)f  coasting  vessels  and  unloading. 

"  It  is  of  a  good  deal  of  consequence  to  Milicent 
who  does  not  wish  to  be  stared  at  as  a  buy-a-broom' 
girl." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  in  the  least,"  declares  Mili- 
cent "  One  who  has  just  faced  death  does  not 
mind  her  fellow-mortals'  gaze." 

Still  Urquhart  is  not  satisfied. 

"  You  don't  suppose  any  one  is  going  to  remark 
on  Milicent's  being  hatless,"  says  Stephen,  laugh- 
ing at  his  squeamishness.  "Two  rough-looking 
fishermen  and  a  girl  with  them,  landing  from  a 
schooner,  will  never  attract  any  one's  attention. 
We  are  n't  fine  people,  to  be  stared  at." 

There  is  something  in  this.  They  would  never 
be  taken  as  belonging  to  a  class  among  whom  to 
be  bonnetless,  even  by  accident,  would  be  an  im- 
propriety. So  Urquhart  leads  the  way  with  Mill- 
cent,  when  the  captain  tells  him  the  boat  is  ready 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  yji 

They  must  row  themselves,  for  lie  has  no  man  to 
spare ;  and  they  are  to  leave  the  yawl  in  charge  of 
a  boatman  until  the  captain  can  send  for  it. 

"I  could  not  think  of  steerin-.  I  should  be  run 
down  by  one  of  those  pert  little  tugs,"  Milicent  de- 
Clares,  as  she  takes  her  seat. 

"  Nobody  asked  you,"  remarks  Urquhart.  "  You 
would  have  every  rat  on  the  wharf  screaming  to  us 
at  the  nove]  sight  of  a  woman  steering.  Stephen 
will  have  to  pull  two  oars." 

"  I  don't  like  the  position  of  the  Undine,"  says 
Stephen,  after  at  least  five  minutes'  steady  but  si- 
lent  rowing.  -  Twice,  since  we  left  the  schooner, 
has  she  escaped  being  run  into,  as  by  a  miracle, 
blie  would  bo  much  safer  in  dock." 

Urquhart  looks  around  uneasily.  Certainly  the 
yacht  s  position  is  a  precarious  one.  "  We  can't 
afford  to  lose  her,"  he  says.  "  She  is  our  best 
chance  of  reaching  home.  If  Milicent  would  not 
object  to  waiting  for  a  few  minutes  on  the  pier,  we 
could  row  back  and  tow  the  Undine  to  the  dock  " 

"But  MiUy  will  object,"  replies  Stephen, 
quickly.  ^       ' 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  will  not 
have  the  yacht  run  any  risk,  through  foolish  fear 
lor  me. 

"We  will  not  be  gone  fifteen  minutes,"  Ur- 
quhart assures  her.  "  We  will  keep  in  sight  of 
you,  and  you  will  be  perfectly  safe  by  that  pile  of 
boxes." 

It  proves  a  nook  so  very  secure,  that  when  Ur- 
,i,o«^  ^"3  placed  her  there,  Milicent  declares  she 


quhart 


!"   ■! 


'; 


V' 


172 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


does  not  object  at  all  to  being  left,  and  they  need 
not  hurry  on  her  account. 

"  But  we  will,  though.  Just  show  a  white  flag 
if  you  are  in  distress,  and  we  will  be  with  you  at 
once.  Come  on,  Ferguson :  the  sooner  we  are  off, 
the  sooner  we  will  return." 

But  Stephen  lingers  to  be  sure  Milicent  is  not 
afraid  of  being  left;  until  Urquhart  drags  him  off, 
while  she  is  saying  :  "  What  can  happen  to  me  ?  I 
don't  intend  to  move  from  here ;  and  I  am  rather 
too  large  to  be  taken  off  forcibly." 

Indeed,  i^s  Milicent  says,  she  knows  nothing  to 
be  afraid  of ;  and  she  is  infinitely  interested  in  the 
scene  around  her.  Everything  is  a  novelty  to  her 
rustic  eyes :  the  odd,  low-swung  wagons,  with  their 
piles  of  goods ;  people  running  here  and  there,  as 
if  they  had  not  a  minute  to  spare ;  even  the  wharf- 
boys  and  the  hack-drivers,  those  intolerable  nui- 
sances to  respectable  travelers,  amuse  Milicent  by 
their  eagerness,  as  they  stand  in  line,  with  beckon- 
ing whips  in  hand,  along  the  slope  of  the  wharf : 
for  the  Boston  steamer  has  just  come  in. 

There  is  a  railing  along  the  top  of  the  wharf, 
and  a  line  of  spectators  gathering  there,  looking  at 
the  landing  of  the  travelers.  The  tide  has  fallen 
its  twenty  or  thirty  I'eet,  and  the  bridge  of  the 
wharf  swings  down  to  meet  it;  and  upon  either 
hand  of  the  steep  incline  by  which  the  passengers 
mount,  as  they  come  ashore,  the  wooden  walls 
tower  up,  green  with  seaweed,  and  white  with  bar- 
nacles. Between  them  sweeps  the  stream  of  pret- 
tily dressed  women,  prolonging  their  visit  to  the 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


173 


seashore  by  this  fashionable  rush  up  through  the 
Provinces;  gorgeously  adorned  nurses,  half  wild 
with  their  efforts  to  keep  from  sudden  death  re- 
fractory children,  who  have  no  fear  but  of  doing  as 
they  are  bidden ;  men  in  absurd  costume,  gotten 
up,  it  is  supposed,  for  comfort  at  the  seaside.  Is 
the  gay  steamer  a  pest-house  they  are  all  eager  to 
escape  from,  so  remorselessly  are  tliey  crowding 
and  pushing  ? 

It  is  all  a  grand  panorama  to  Milicent ;  and 
though,  with  the  arrogance  of  youth,  she  criticises 
the  appearance  of  the  women,  on  the  whole  she  is 
not  sorry  to  think  she  will  some  day  or  other  be 
like  them.  It  is  the  children  who  appear  to  her  so 
odd  and  overdressed  ;  uncomfortable  little  mortals, 
compared  with  the  sturdy,  ruddy  fishermen's  bairns 
on  the  village  street  at  home. 

Milicent  has  seldom  looked  prettier  than  now, 
as  she  stands  leaning  against  the  pile  of  boxes,  her 
great,  earnest  eyes  taking  in  all  these  new  scenes 
and  impressions.  She  is  far  too  interested  to  feel 
uncomfortable.  Indeed,  she  has  forgotten  her  own 
existence  :  and  her  face,  a  perfect  April  sky,  — 
now  clouding  and  tear-gathering,  and  a  moment 
after  bright  and  laughing,  —  is  a  pretty  study  for 
those  who  have  an  eye  for  this  kind  of  picture. 

"  What  a  handsome  girl,  —  but  horribly  bold  !  " 
the  ladies  say  as  they  pass  poor  unconscious  Mili- 
cent. "  Think  of  standing  alone  in  all  this  crowd, 
with  no  hat  on  I  " 

"  What,  hide  her  pretty  face  ?  Not  she  !  The 
men  will  know  her  the  next  time  they  see  her," 


It  I 


174 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


m 


I  !■ 


comes  the  sjntefiil  answer  from  one  whose  head- 
covering  is  hardly  worn  because  of  the  angels  :  they 
keep  so  aloof  from  her  vicinity. 

The  men  know  much  better  what  a  really  bold 
woman  is  like. 

Though  some  of  the  fortunate  ones,  who  have 
no  luggage,  and  no  customs-officers  to  look  after, 
nor  any  of  their  women-kind  with  them,  collect  in 
a  group  uncomfortably  near  Milicent,  she  gives 
little  heed  to  them,  as  there  is  nothing  picturesque 
nor  amusing  in  their  appearance.  If  she  were 
listening,  she  might  discover  that  they  are  discuss- 
ing her.  Her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  wild-rose  bloom, 
even  her  pose  as  she  stands  carelessly  leaning 
against  the  boxes,  are  freely  commented  on,  much 
as  if  she  were  a  picture  in  an  art-gallery. 

Presently  she  looks  towards  them,  but  certainly 
beyond  them,  and  smiles  and  nods. 

It  is  to  Urquhart  and  Stephen,  who  are  hurrying 
to  her.  Urquhart  sees  the  group  of  men;  and, 
with  a  muttered  expression  of  disj^leasure,  strides 
forward. 

He  is  l<x)king  at  and  thinking  of  Milicent :  or 
he  might  avoid  recognition.  But  in  spite  of  the 
growth  of  his  beard,  and  his  sunburnt  face,  as  well 
as  his  rough  fisherman's  suit,  he  is  at  once  hailed 
and  captured  as  an  acquaintance,  yclept  friend. 
There  is  no  getting  away ;  and  Urquhart  has  to 
shake  hands,  and  explain  that  he  has  been  yacht- 
ing all  summer,  and  has  just  put  into  St.  John : 
though  he  takes  good  care  not  to  tell  how  he  was 
picked  up  at  sea  this  morning,  and  whom  he  has 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


175 


with  him  as  companions,  ~  neither  in  what  waters 
he  has  fished,  this  pleasant  smnmer  througli. 

"  It  must  be  you  she  is  nodding  to,  — that  pretty 
girl  minus  a  hat.  Who  is  she  ?  "  asks  one  of  the 
men,  who  thinks  watching  Milicent  better  pastime 
than  questioning  Urquhart  about  his  travels. 

"  I  rather  think  she  is  nodding  to  the  man  who 
was  with  me,  making  the  Undine  safe,"  says  Ur- 
quhart coolly,  not  even  glancing  towards  Milicent. 
"  Then  you  don't  know  her.     I  hoped  you  did. 
She  is  rarely  beautiful." 

"  I  thought  you  understood  I  have  just  landed," 
returns  Urquhart  briefly ;  and  then  answers  some 
query  as  to  his  luck  as  fisherman. 

The  man  who  had  assisted  to  make  the  Undi  .e 
fast  is  just  atUrquhart's  elbow;  but  he  Im»cens 
to  Milicent. 

"  Are  you  very  tired  of  waiting  ?  "  ho  asks. 
"^'o,  I  have  been  very  much  amused.  Fancy 
such  fantastic  dressing  on  the  sea !  I  can't  imagine 
how  the  women  get  on,"  says  Milicent,  forgetting 
her  own  disappointment  when  he  objected  to  just 
such  dressing  on  her  part. 

"  I  should  n't  think  they  could  walk  very  far  on 
the  cliffs,  with  such  heels  to  their  boots ;  and  there 
would  not  be  much  chance  of  their  balancing  them- 
selves  on  the  gunwale  of  a  boat.  But  don't  stand 
any  longer  in  the  sun,  Milly.  Urquhart  will  come 
as  soon  as  he  gets  rid  of  his  friends." 

"But  will  he  know  where  we  are  goinj^?"  Mili- 
cent asks,  with  a  natural  dread  of  separating  in 
such  a  crowd. 


176 


'I 


III 


II 


PTLOT  FORTUNE. 


"  We  'II  not  go  far ;  only  out  of  the  sun,"  Stephen 
promises. 

Round  on  the  other  side  of  the  boxes,  they  are 
not  only  out  of  the  sun,  but  also  out  of  view  of 
Urquhart's  acquaintances ;  and  Milicent  is  just  as 
much  amused  with  the  scene  on  the  water  as  she 
has  been  with  the  panorama  on  the  wharf.  Before 
very  long,  Urquhart  joins  them. 

"Why  did  n't  you  get  a  carriage  ?  I  am  afraid 
they  have  all  driven  off,"  he  says  to  Stephen. 

"I  hope  they  have.  I  would  much  rather  walk," 
Milicent  replies  for  him.  "Did  you  see  the  way 
they  dashed  up  hill?  I  should  be  frightened  to 
death." 

"  But  you  can't  walk  without  a  hat,"  objects  Ur- 
quhart. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  Stephen  asks 
shortly,  drawing  Urquhart  a  little  a-ide.  He  is 
not  at  all  pleased  with  Urquhart's  cool  way  of 
Ignoring  any  knowledge  of  Milicent  to  his  friends. 

"I  don't  know  yet.  We  can  decide  whilst  we 
are  drivinjr." 

"  I  think  we  had  better  know  before.  Milly 
might  understand  the  dilemma.  Of  course  none  of 
your  fine  hotels  will  take  two  fishermen  in." 

"  I  think  Milicent,  and  our  having  no  lugo-a^e 
will  be  our  chief  difficulty.     Is  there  no  chance   of 
our  getting  away  from  here  at  once  ?  " 

^ "None  whatever.  You  see,  there  is  more  amiss 
with  the  Undine  than  we  thought  at  first.  We  shall 
have  to  hire  a  couple  of  men  to  sail  her  home  when 
she  is  put  m  repair ;  and  we  must  take  the  steam- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


m 


boat  to  Digby      Unfortunately,  the™  i»  none  nntU 

to-morrow      Digby  is  our  neaiest  point  for  home. 

We  can  drive  down  the  French  shore;  and  from 

there,  with  a  favorable  wind,  we  shall  have  but 

tvvo  or  three  hours'  sail  across  to  Westport.     The 

Undine  can  come  into  St.  Maiy's  Bav  by  Petite 

Passage  above  Long  Island,  if  she  is"  ready  for 

us:  ,f  not^  we  can  easily  hire  a  boat  to  take  us 

across      But  there  is  no  means  of  getting  away 

irom  here  until  to-morrow." 

"It 's  unlucky.  But  of  course  it  can't  be  helped. 
At  twelve  o'clock  last  night,  I  would  have  been 
glad  to  be  east  on  a  desert  island,  so  treacherous 
1  t.Wght  the  sea.  Miss  Ursula  must  be  slightly 
worried.  '  ^      -^ 

"  I  don't  believe  any  of  the  fishermen  comforted 
her,  mdeed.  They  have  n't  much  faith  in  a  brown 
squaU.     But  this  is  not  deciding  on  our  plans." 

Feraaps,  then,  we  had  betier  drive  to  the  Duf- 
f erm      I  was  there  before  1  went  to  Grand  Manan, 
and  I  know  the  proprietor.     If  you  will  let  me  out, 
and  drive  on  a  little  way,  I  will  explain  our  posi- 
^on ;  and  perhaps  he  can  get  the  coast  clear,  so  that 
Milicent  may  be  safely  housed  without  bein-  seen  " 
"It  seems  rather  hard  that  we,  who  ared'oin-  no 
wrong,  should  have  to  go  to  work  surreptitiously," 
Stephen  remarks,  dryly.    "I  ,nuch  prefer  the  wL 
of  a  rough  fel  .ng  village,  where  one  is  not  so  par- 
ticular  abci't;  tiio  proprieties." 

"No  doubt  you  would :  and  you  were  angry  that 
1  did  n  t  introduce  Milicent  to  that  raft  of  idiots. 
1  never  saw  such  a  scowl  as  you  gave  them  in  pass- 


178 


18  K< 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


rng. 


As  if  I  would  permit  her  to  be  stared  at,  and 
commented  on  behind  our  backs !  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  comments  could  be  made,  ex- 
cept that  she  has  lost  her  hat,"  Stephen  remarks, 
shortly.      '^  That  was  easily  enough  explained." 

"  Girls  don't  go  roaming  about  with  men  not 
related  to  them  "  — 

"  I  thought  the  squall  was  responsible  for  our 
being  here,"  interrupts  Stephen. 

"But   not  for   our   going  to  the  island.     The 
whole  trouble  has  arisen  from  that." 
^  "  Then  I  wonder  you  did  not  object  to  it  at  the 
time  "  —  Stephen  begins,  hotly. 

"  Nonsense :  thore  was  not  the  slightest  impro- 
priety in  it.  You  would  n't  have  dragged  Miss 
Ursula^  to  your  fOte  ?  And  if  you  had  wished  to 
do^  so,  it  would  have  been  beyond  your  strength. 
Still,  as  things  have  turned  out  decidedly  provok- 
ingly,  we  had  better  adopt  the  little  fiction  as  old 
as  Abraham,  and  pass  Milicent  off  as  the  sister  of 
one  of  us.     You  may  claim  the  relationship." 

"Very  well,"  Stephen  says,  shortly.  "Milly 
must  be  tired  of  waiting." 

"  Let  me  out  at  the  Dufferin,  and  then  drive 
round  King  Square.  Don't  come  back  for  me,  but 
stop^  at  the  corner  above,  and  I  will  come  to  the 
carriage,"  Urquhart  directs  the  driver,  as  Stephen 
hands  Milicent  to  her  seat. 

There  is  not  much  talking  to  be  done  by  a  girl 
who  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  finds  herself  in  a 
carriage.  She  clings  to  the  strap  a  little  breath- 
lessly, when  the  horses  dash  up  the  steep  incline 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


179 


of  a  street  as  St.  John  horses  have  a  knack  of  do- 
ing.     But  her  momentary  terror  does  not  prevent 

t'JT,     Tf"''  "*  «™^y«»"g-      She  turns 
from  tlie  forest  of  masts  overhung-  by  Prince  Wil- 
liam htreet,   to  wonder  at   the  broad  edifice   of 
creamy  sandstone  commanding  the  water  with  its 
dome  and  towers -a  vast  palace,  it  looks  to  her 
inexperienced  eyes,  knowing  only  the  frame  cot- 
tages on  the  IS  and:  until  she  is  told  it  is  the  Cus- 
tom-House      What  a  pile  of  buildings!  and  now 
they  are  ghttering  in  the  sunset,  witl  rows  upon 
rows  of  wmdows,  taU   and  deep-set,  the  narrow 
spaces  between  them   quaintly  ornamented   with 
crosses  and  diamonds  done  in  bricks  set  comer- 
wise  into  the  wall.     J,ow  and  again,  in  the  weU- 
built,  substantial  streets,  one  comes  upon  a  pic- 
turesque reminder  of  the  great  fire  which  a  L 
years  ago  swept  the  city  through  and  through,  and 
smouldered  m  its  ashes  three  months  aftefwkrds. 
JNow  ,t  IS  a  rumed  mass  built  high  upon  a  rock, 

and  buttercups  ;  or  a  square,  like  a  half-crumbled 
tower  overgrown  with  vines.  The  living  roek  is 
cnt  through  to  form  the  level  of  the  str:et,.  and 
here  and  there  a  fine  house,  perched  high  on  its 
rocky  base,  sets  its  foot  on  the  neck  of  its  neighbor 
in  the  street  below.  "cignoor 

But  it  is  at  the  shops  that  Milicent  is  all  wonder 
and  deli8l.t.     Stephen  laughs  at  her,  insisting  t  I 
at  lea.t  the  mode  of  trade  in  the  village  is  more 
convement  as  everything  to  be  bought  is  to  be  had 
in  one  small  shop. 


180 


PTLOT  FORTUNE. 


I! 


t 


"  Just  as  Mrs.  Piggott  thinks  it  is  so  much  bet- 
ter  to  live  in  one  room  with  her  dozen  children.  It 
is  so  much  handier  for  flogging  the  children,  she 
told  me  one  day." 

Stephen  thinks  the  children  would  prefer  longer 
range ;  and  Urquhart  reminds  her,  for  the  third 
or  fourth  time,  that  she  has  no  hat  on,  and  must 
keep  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  out  of  sight. 

"  Bother  the  hat !  "  Milicent  exclaims  each  time ; 
but  submissively  draws  back  into  her  corner,  until 
she  forgets,  and  looks  out  again. 

The  drive  round  tlie  square  is  much  pleasanter: 
Urquhart  has  gotten  out,  and  Stephen  encourages 
her  to  look.     And  now  there  is  subject  for  new 
wonder :  the  trees  of  King  Square,  in  the  midst  of 
which  a  fountain  is  playing,  with  a  sound  as  of 
rushing  rain.     Milicent  thinks  the  fountain  a  poor 
substitute   for  nature's   hydraulics   on   the  cliffs; 
but  she  recalls  the  balm-of-Gilead  at  home,  with 
its  scant,  quivering  crown  of  leaves  ;  and  fortu- 
nately Urquhart  is  not  at  liand  to  suggest  that 
these  trees  might  in  their  turn  suffer  by  compari- 
son  with  others.     Then  the  carriage  draws  a  little 
out  of  the  way,  to  give  Milicont  a  better  view  of 
the    quaint   old   burying  -  gix^und,  which  Stephen 
points  out  to  her  as  the  ^sr-ithcring-place  of  many 
in  that  night  of  raging  flame  which  swept  over 
the  whole  city,  and  utterly  destroyed  a  score  of 
streets,   leaving  thousands   no   other    home   than 
this.     Stephen  was  sailing  up  here  in  a  Westport 
schooner  on  that  terrible  twentieth  of  June  ;  and 
he  had  long  ago  told  Milicent  the  story  of  the 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


181 


burning  city  on  the  rock,  the  hiricl  flapping  cur- 
tains of  the  flames  veering  all  over  it ;  the  sea 
aglow  with  the  reflection,  a  red  and  brassy  back- 
ground for  the  boats  and  rafts  of  refugees  :  —  one 
such  raf  i-Ioad,  showing  out  black  against  the  ruddy 
water,  his  schooner  had  picked  up,  as  it  was  drift- 
ing helplessly  out  to  sea,  with  its  score  of  women 
and  children. 

The  two  are  talking  it  over  now,  as  the  carriage 
moves  on ;  and  half-way  to  the  corner,  Urquhart 
comes  across  the  green  square,  to  meet  them. 

"The  books  were  just  crowded  with  names  of 
people  I  know.  The  whole  of  New  York  and 
Boston  seems  to  have  been  swept  up  here  by  the 
hot  wave  of  this  week.  I  could  not  possibly  have 
kept  out  of  their  way,"  Urquhart  says  in  a  low 
voice  to  Stephen. 

"  So  large  an  acquaintance  must  be  something 
of  a  nuisance,"  Stephen  returns,  laconically. 

"Of  course  it  is.  I  wish  you  would  stop  your 
platitudes,  and  suggest  something." 

"  That  is  n't  as  difficult  as  you  think.  There  is 
a  hotel  I  generally  put  up  at :  not  a  grand  house, 
by  any  means.  But  I  can  recommend  it  as  neat, 
and  kept  by  a  landlady  who  knows  me  and  will 
make  Milly  comfortable." 

"  That  will  do  finely.  Why  did  you  not  mention 
this  hotel  before  ?  " 

"I  thought  you  had  better  try  your  own  way 
first,  and  see  if  it  succeeded." 

^  Urquhart  and  Stephen  have  both  a  direction  to 
give  the  driver,  and  then  they  get  into  the  carriage. 


m 

<*  ^i  1 


182 


I'lLor  roRTi'Nt:. 


:iJi 


"  I  tliought  we  wro  to  .stop  liere,"  say.,  Milieent 

pi  J.""  "'""  ''  ''"''''"''  ^""^y  *°  "-square,:;: 

"  No,  it  was  iinpossibl,.  for  us  to  get  in '•  savs 

Uvquhart;  and  Milieent  fortunately  does  not  afk 

wLereu.  lies  the  inxpossibility.     ni  soon  folet^ 

her  d,sappon,tu.cnt,  in  looking  at  the  shops.      ° 

Agan,  the  earriage  stops :  this  time  before  a  n.il- 
liner  s  estabhslnuent ;  and  Urquhart  alights. 

Uoes  he  expect  to  find  lodgings  tliere  ' "  Ste 
ph™  asks  pu..led  by  Urquharfs  shop,ing,„;„  r 
M,.eent  .s   not  at  all   puzzled,  but  o.dy  says. 
He  had  mueh  better  h.ave  taken  n.e  with  hi„.    " 

ToSl^"^'  """"''"'  ''^  «'«!"-  °f  '-  "at  J: 

But  Urquhart  soon  eomes  back,  carrying  a  par- 
cel wonderfully  fastened  at  the  four  corners,  Xh 
he  easts  .nto  Milicenfs  lap,  before  taking  hilS 

Mdicent  unpins  her  parcel,  and  holds  up  to  view 
a  small  French  hat,  which  has  the  appearance  of  a 
large  nosegay. 

"B„Mf''-n°^"   T    ®'''''""'   ^'^'■y   decidedly. 
But  It  wdl  do  until  you  get  home." 

"  ^T'"'"  yo"  ^"11  give  her  straw  for  domestic 
manufactu,.,"  returns  Urquhart,  sarcastically 

a,  ^t    I  ""    Ty.  '''^''  *"""<'"''  J"^'  as  decidedly 
as  Stephen ;  "  but  it  will  not  do  at  all  " 

"Why  not?    The  milliner  took  a  peep  at  you 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


188 


>> 


tJirougJ,  the  window,  and  said  it  would  just  suit 
ina,lan.ei  and  she  i,  a  French  woman,  and  ouf-at 
to  know.  ° 

"  But  she  or  peep,"  answers  MUicent, 

still  regartlmg  tin    hat  hall  regretfully. 

"  Won't  it  be  beconiino?  "  asks  Urquhart.  «  Put 
It  on.         ephen  and  I  will  be  your  mirror  " 

-Oh,  no  doubt  I  would  satisfy  you  both  in  it. 
i3ut  my  dress  would  „over  do  with  it.  It  is  flannel, 
and  rather  the  worse  for  the  sea-water." 

"  What  does  it  itter,  so  tliat  you  b  ive  a  hat 
on  your  head  ?  Tliat  seems  to  be  the  main  point  " 
suggests  Stephen.  ^ 

"Perhaps  you  had  l,etter  get  a  general  outfit. 
1  assure  you  it  can  be  done  in  a  few  minutes," 
says  Urcpdiart,  eagerly. 

"No,  thanks,"  returns  Milicent,  with  a  blush 
for  her  once  accepting  a  general  outfit,  as  he  calls 

iL.  \r^^T''  ^  ""''''  *^^^"  ""  ^^^*'  ^^*  I  can't 
trnst  either  of  you  to  select  it  for  me.     Just  stop 

at  a  shop  where  I  cnn  find  a  straw  one.  Let  me 
see :  we  passed  the  London  House  and  the  Vic- 
toria House  ;  they  both  sound  promising  for  any- 
thing  one  might  want." 

Urquhart  gives  the  order.  "  Had  n't  the  clerk 
better  bring  the  millinery  to  you?  "  he  asks. 

"iNo,  It  IS  only  a  step  ;  no  one  will  .see  me  if  I 
am  quick  You  can  sit  still ;  Stephen  won't  mind 
going  with  me." 

But  both  the  men  prefer  going  with  her:  and 
Mdicent  quickly  finds  a  hat  that  suits  her.  The 
clerk  tries  to  entice  her  to  add  a  spray  of  flowers 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


1^ 


Iff  ■-    12.2 

!1  1^ 


IIM 

1.8 


1-4    111.6 


6" 


c 


Photographii 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


184 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


to  the  trimmiiiff.     «  Tf  will  K«  «    u 

ment,"  he  declares.  '  '""''  '^  '^P«'^«- 

as  th!°„«  ""''  ''T'-a   ^*  '^  J"^'  ^^  "-h  too  plain 
as  the  other  was  too  fine,"  says  Stephen.  ^ 

But  Mihcent  shakes  her  head. 

"  Y'''t«  and   red  roses  are  quite  fashionable  " 

uds tari'  T""^  ''  ""^  ""'''^  »P  '"^e  pSea 
"and  tt        ,       ,7"  "'  ^""^  '^'^Ser,  blushing  face • 
and  the  p,nk  will  match  your  cheeks." 

\"'  on  your  hat,  Milicent;  we  must  be  off" 
«ays  Urquhart,  sharply;  and  as  he  stops  behJd 
to  pay  for  the  hat,  the  elerk  infers  that  he  is  her 
husband  and  gi-udges  her  the  roses.  He  does  not 
suppose  his  compliment  was  offensive :  indeed 
he  imagines  he  was  very  polite  in  showing  ft' 
fisherman  and  his  pretty  wife  his  flowers,  tltngh 
of  ^course  they  were  not  his  handsomest,  riot  evfn 

Nor  does  Milicent  understand  why  Urquhart 
wa.  so  suddenly  out  of  temper,  and  tHnksIt  was 
because  she  had  refused  to  wear  the  French  hTt 

The  hotel  Stephen  recommended  is  in  a  much 
quieter  part  of  the  town,  and  of  the  kind  geneTX 
patronized  by  farmers  and  country  shopkeeperf 
I  :s  irreproachably  clean;  and  yet  hasVodor 
of  every  dinner  ever  cooked  in  its  precincts.  But 
It  has  one  ad,antage,  Urquhart  gladly  discovers- 

none  of  her  sex  among  her  guests.     Evidentlv  the 
farmers'  wives  have  different  testes  from  thSr 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  135 

husbands,  and   when   they  come   to   town  prefer 

more  fashionable  quarters. 

The  landlady  is  delighted  to  see  Stephen;  and, 

being  from  ':he  seacoast,  she  very  soon  understands 
the  circumstances  of  their  case,  and  the  great  dan- 
ger he  and  his  friends  have  passed  through.  She 
IS  mclined  to  be  rather  oppressive  in  her  hospi- 
tality ;  but  that  is  on  Stephen's  account,  who  is  a 
lavorite  of  hers. 

After  their  late  dinner,  the  two  men  leave  Mili- 
^ent  in  charge  of  the  landlady,  and  go  in  search  of 
a  couple  of  coasting  sailors  who  would  attend  to 
needful  repairs,  and  sail  the  Undine  to  Westport. 
It  IS  not  an  easy  thing  to  find  trusty  men  to  un- 
dertake  this;   and  not   until  after  dark   do  they 
return  to  the  hotel,  having  met  with  much  a-  noy. 
ance,  -  which  Urquhart   soon  forgets  in  a  fresh 
grievance.    The  landlady  reports  that  Milicent  has 
gone  out. 

"Why,  where  could  she  have  gone?  Could 
there  have  been  anything  madder  than  her  goinff 
out  alone  ?  She  has  n't  an  idea  of  the  place/'  ex- 
claims Urquhart,  impatient  with  anxiety 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  MiUy  will  find  her  way  back, 
telle  IS  too  much  of  a  sailor,  not  to  have  some  mark 
to  steer  by.  No  doubt  she  has  gone  to  take  a 
nearer  view  of  the  shops  that  fascinated  her  so,  as 
she  drove  past  them.  You  ought  not  to  have 
bought  her  a  hat,  if  you  wanted  to  keep  her  in- 
doors,    says  Stephen,  laughing. 

TT  "  T'  i'^'J  ^'^*''  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^«^  ^«r,"  proposes 
Urquhart,  shortly.  ^ 


186 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"I  don't  think  wo  need ;  she  would  rather  not  I 
fancy.  ^  Besides,  she  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes'." 

"  It  is  far  too  late  for  her  to  be  out.  I  wonder 
she  can  be  so  silly." 

"Kather  set  it  down  to  ignorance,"  replies  Ste- 
phen, gravely. 

^  "  Well,  I  must  go  and  find  her.  If  she  comes 
m  betore  I  return,  you  can  tell  her  what  a  frio-ht 
she  has^given  me,"-  and  Urquhart  hurries  off. 

Stephen  may  possibly  be  right,  and  Milicent 
has  gone  to  look  at  the  shops :  or  perhaps  to  Kinff 
Square,  where  strains  of  music  are  now  mingling 
with  the  fountain's  plash, 

Urquhart  would  not  be  surprised  to  meet  her  lin- 
germg  somewhere  there,  listening  to  a  band  for  the 
tirst  time  in  her  life,  most  probably.  Prompted 
by  this  fear,  he  walks  on  rap-dly,  looking  for"  her 
carefully;  too  c.ref uUy, - f or  he  almost  runs  into 
the  arms  of  some  one  who  is  crossing  over  from 
tDe  Dutterin,  and  who  proves  to  be  one  of  his  ac- 
quaintances met  that  afternoon  on  the  wharf. 

Urquhart  has  to  stop  and  speak  civilly ;  aiid  be- 
fore he  can  plead  pressing  business  as  an  excuse 
for  passing  on,  he  has  caught  sight  of  Milicent 
turning  this  way  from  King  Street. 

Urquhart's  desire  is  to  get  rid  of  his  friend  be- 
fore Milicent  comes  opposite  to  them.  There  is 
good  hope  of  his  doing  so ;  for  she  is  lagging  at 
every  shop-window,  and  at  her  present  gait  may 
be  half  an  hour  in  making  the  progress  of  half  a 
square.  But,  unfortunately,  she  sees  Urquhart 
standing  there  under  the  street  lamp ;  and,  think- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


187 


»> 


ing  he  is  looking  for  her,  she  crosses  over,  smiling, 
and  wondering  if  he  has  been  frightened  about  her. 

"  All,  there  is  the  little  girl  I  saw  on  the  wharf 
this  morning  !  "  exclaims  Urquhart's  friend,  much 
to  his  annoyance.  "  That  is  a  face  one  can  never 
forget,  the  coloring  is  so  perfect,  —  and  such  sud- 
den changes  of  expression  !  I  was  sure  for  a  mo- 
ment she  thought  she  knew  one  of  us ;  and  then  a 
pretty  look  of  disappointment  came  over  her  face." 

No  wonder  a  change  comes  over  Milicent's  face, 
as  she  nears  the  two  men,  for  Urquhart  turns  his 
back  on  her.  She  is  very  sure  he  saw  her,  and 
was  ashamed  of  her ;  for  Milicent  has  gained  some 
ideas  about  dress  r  t)d  the  fitness  of  things,  in  the 
few  hours  she  has  spent  in  Vanity  Fair.  So  she 
passes  by,  with  flaming  cheeks,  and  bright,  indig- 
nant eves  that  are  looking  straight  before  her. 

"Zounds,  but  she  is  a  beauty!"  Urquhart's 
companion  exclaims.  And  he  would  have  followed 
Milicent,  and  perhaps  have  made  some  startling 
discoveries,  if  Urquhart  had  not  detained  him. 

Milicent's  way  lies  round  the  next  comer,  and  it 
is  not  very  long  before  Urquhart  has  overtaken  her. 

"You  had  better  take  my  arm,"  he  says,  very 
shortly. 

"  Thanks ;  I  would  rather  not ; "  she  answers,  in 
the  same  tone. 

Just  then  some  one  walks  in  between  them,  and 
they  are  separated  for  a  second  or  two.  When 
they  meet  again,  Urquhart  is  peremptory  in  his 
desire  that  she  shall  take  his  arm ;  and  Milicent,  a 
little  frightened  at  the  crowd,  obeys. 


188 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  have  been  greatly  alarmed  about  you,  Mili- 
cent.  What  induced  you  to  come  out?"  asks  Ur- 
quhart,  after  securing  her. 

"  I  don't  know  what  inducement  there  was  for 
me  to  stay  in,"  she  answers,  with  much  defiance  in 
her  voice.  "  I  had  no  one  to  speak  to,  and  noth- 
ing  to  do.  It  was  certainly  more  entertaining  out- 
of-doors." 

"  But  scarcely  as  safe.  You  will  find  the  habits 
here  rather  different  from  those  you  are  accus- 
tomed  to." 

.  'IJ. '^"""'^  "^^'^  *^  ^'^^®  y^^^  *ell  ine  so,"  breaks 
in  Milicent,  with  an  increased  glow  in  her  cheeks, 
and  an  endeavor  to  draw  her  hand  away  from  his 
arm :  which  she  does  not  succeed  in  doing,  for  he 
holds  it  fast.  « I  have  discovered  the  difference 
myself." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,  Milicent.  It  was  careless  in 
me.  I  should  have  warned  you,"  says  Urquhart, 
evidently  troubled. 

^    "  I  don't  think  warning  would  have  helped  me 
m  the  least." 

"  It  would  certainly  have  prevent.:    your  coming 
out  by  yourself,"  answers  Urquhart. 
^    "  It  certainly  would  not.    I  am  not  going  to  stay 
ma  disagreeable,  close  room,  just  because  you  are 
asnamed  of  me." 

^  "  Ashamed  of  you  !  What  are  you  saying.  Mil- 
icent?  I  thought  some  one  was  impertinent  to 
you !  "  exclaims  Urquhart  in  surprise. 

"  And  so  some  one  was,  and  it  has  happened  to 
me  twice  to-day,"  Milicent  says  vehemently,  strug- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


189 


gling  to  free  her  hand :  which  Urquhart  permits 
her  to  do,  as  they  have  reached  the  hotel. 

"  What  has  happened  twice  to  you  to-day?"  he 
asks,  gravely. 

"  That  you  have  refused  to  recognize  me.  All 
on  account  of  your  grand  friends  !  "  she  adds,  with 
a  scornful  shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  But  I  could  n't  help  myself,"  says 
Urquhart,  laughing,  and  feeling  much  relieved. 

"  Could  n't  help  being  ashamed  of  me  ?  " 

"  Ashamed  !  Why,  I  was  never  prouder  in  all 
my  life  of  anything  that  was  my  very  own  I  " 

The  girl  looks  quickly  up  at  him,  a  certain  thrill 
in  his  voice  drawing  her  glance.  The  light  from 
a  window,  under  which  they  have  paused,  shows 
her  his  face  ;  and  somehow,  when  their  eyes  meet, 
it  is  not  easy  to  doubt  him,  even  when  he  says,  as 
if  continuing :  — 

"  But  the  only  thing  I  could  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances was  not  to  know  you.  You  ought  not 
to  be  angry  with  me,  for  I  was  acting  for  your 
own  good." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  how  not  speaking  to 
me  could  do  me  any  good." 

"  And  I  don't  care  that  you  should  understand. 
I  only  wish  you  to  believe  me." 

"I  hate  blind  belief,"  she  cries  impatiently. 
"  It  is  a  mere  weakness." 

"  I  think  it  requires  a  prodigious  effort  of  strength 
on  your  part,"  Urquhart  says,  laughing.  "  How 
are  we  to  get  on  through  life,  if  you  are  to  have  no 
faith  in  me  ?  " 


190 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  don't  admit  I  have  no  faith  in  you.  Only  I 
would  like  to  be  certain  that  it  was  not  my  old 
flannel  dress  you  were  ashamed  of." 

"  As  if  a  flannel  dress  is  not  good  enough  for  a 
fisherman's  sweetheart  I  Did  you  think  I  cared 
for  such  a  trifle  ?  If  I  had  any  real  cause  to  be 
ashamed  of  you,  I  would  not  marry  you;  but  I 
won't  refuse  you  on  account  of  your  dress." 

He  laughs  as  he  speaks,  and  evidently  expects 
an  answer  from  Milicent. 

But  she  seems  satisfied  with  his  assurance,  and 
goes  up-stairs  to  the  parlor.  Pie  watches  her  un- 
til  she  is  safely  on  her  way,  and  then  turns  into 
the  office  to  give  some  directions  relating  to  leav- 
ing in  the  morning. 

Stephen  is  in  the  parlor,  reading  the  evening 
paper,  when  Milicent  comes  in.  He  was  anxiously 
watching  for  her,  until  he  caught  sight  of  her  re- 
turning on  Urquhart's  arm  :  when  he  took  up  the 
paper. 

"I  wish  we  had  never  come  here ! ''  exclaims 
Milicent,  in  a  vexed  tone,  throwing  her  hat  on  the 
table,  --  a  little  too  hastily,  for  it  misses  its  in- 
tended resting-place,  and  goes  spinning  across  the 
room. 

Stephen  goes  quietly  and  picks  up  the  much- 
abused  hat,  and  then  comes  back  to  his  seat, 
before  he  says :  — 

"  I  think  this  is  better  than  risking  death  on  the 
ocean,  Milly." 

"  Oh,  I  forget  that !  It  is  very  ungrateful  in  me. 
I  thought  last  night  if  I  ever  got  to  land  again  I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


191 


would  be  so  very  different.  So  gentle,  and  so 
good.  And  I  have  been  all  day  just  as  I  always 
am. 

"  Which  is  n't  nuch  a  bad  way,"  Stephen  says, 
gently  stroking  the  hand  that  lies  on  the  arm  of 
his  chair. 

"  It  is  n't  grateful  in  me.  Stephen,  I  am  afraid 
1  am  of  an  ungrateful  disposition." 

"  I  always  thought  just  the  opposite.  I  have 
always  found  you  grateful  even  in  trifles." 

"Oh,  in  word,  but  not  in  deed.  I  suppose  I 
could  say  very  easily,  I  thank  God  for  sparing  our 
lives.  ^  But  if  I  had  to  give  up  something  just  be- 
cause It  was  right,  1  would  not  do  it." 

Ste'  f  ^''  ^"""^   '''''"^'^'   '^  '*  ''''''"''   "^^^«^^^y'"  says 
"  I  would  if  I  were  forced  to,  if  I  could  n't  help 
myself.     But  I  would  never  do  as  -  as  you  would 
do,  btephen  — do  it  quietly  and  without  fuss." 

"Yes,  you  would.  When  we  feel  very  deeply, 
we  don  t  care  to  be  noisy  about  it.  Where  did  you 
go^just  now?  To  see  something  pretty,  I  wager." 
And  got  a  scolding  for  my  venturesomeness. 
btephen,  why  is  it  that  people  who  live  in  the 
country  are  not  fit  to  live  in  the  city?  " 

"  I  should  transpose  that  sentence,"  Stephen 
says,  laughing.  ^ 

"  At  home  I  am  just  like  other  people,"  she  ffoes 
on  to  explain.  "  But  here,  I  'm  different  from 
every  one.  And  such  little  things  seem  to  put 
people  out.  And  it  is  just  horrid  !  "  she  ends  ener- 
getically. 


192 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


It  is  not  a  very  clear  i.isight  into  her  troubles, 
that  Milicent  is  giving  Stephen,  and  he  does  not 
care  to  question  her ;  so  he  says  hopefully :  — 

'^  We  '11  bo  at  home  to-morrow,  and  then  you  '11 
not  feel  so  lost." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  says,  "  I  've  been  won- 
dering all  day  if  they  are  sorry  at  home." 

"  Are  n't  you  sure  they  are  ?  I  don't  believe 
there  is  a  heart  in  the  village  that  is  not  sore  for 


us. 


"Yes,  in  the  village.  And  Aunt  Ursula  is 
grieved  for  you,  for  she  is  fond  of  you.  But  it  is 
different  about  me." 

"  She  loves  you  bettor  than  you  think,  Milly." 

"  She  does  n't  care  very  much  for  me  :  I  am  in 
her  way  more  than  you  know.  But  I  shall  be  glad 
to  go  back  and  do  something  to  help  her;  and 
perhaps  when  I  go  away  for  always,  she  will  miss 
me  a  little.     I  should  like  her  to." 

"  It  is  a  hard  burden  to  bear,  to  miss  those  we 
love.     But  no  struggling  will  rid  us  of  it." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  miss  me,"  says  Milicent, 
quickly. 

"  You  want  me  to  be  different  from  all  the 
rest  ? "  he  asks,  a  little  pained,  but  thinking  he 
does  not  show  it. 

"  You  are,  and  always  will  be,  different  from  all 
others,"  says  Milicent  softly,  and  laying  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  There  is,  and  always  will  be, 
but  one  Stephen  in  the  world  to  me." 

Urquhart  comes  in  just  then,  and  sees  Milicent's 
hand  on  Stephen's  shoulder,  and  perhaps  hears  her 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


193 


last  words.  Any  one  might  have  come  into  the 
room  as  well.  -  Do  you  want  any  tea  ?  "  he  asks, 
shortly. 

He  had  intended  to  propose  to  her  to  walk  after 
tea.  Under  cover  of  night,  he  did  not  fear  to 
take  her. 

"No,  thanks,  i  am  going  to  bed,"  she  answers. 
And  as  neither  of  the  men  presses  her  to  stay,  she 
says  good-night,  and  leaves  them. 

Urquhart  goes  out,  perhaps  to  meet  his  friends, 
who  do  not  mind  being  seen  with  such  a  rough- 
looking  fellow,  when  it  is  so  easy  to  explain  who 
he  IS.  He  is  too  rich  a  man,  not  to  be  permitted  a 
few  vagaries. 

Stephen  spends  the  evening  alone.  Urquhart 
did  not  ask  him  to  go  with  him :  perhaps  he  did  not 
care  to  give  any  trace  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  his 
fishing-ground,  and  it  was  n't  at  all  likely  Stephen 
would  refuse  to  say  wnere  he  came  from,  for  any 
whim  of  Urquhctrt's.  Ashe  could  not  very  well 
explain  to  Stephen  why  he  desires  to  keep  both 
Milicent  and  the  little  fishing-village  from  the 
knowledge  of  his  acquaintances,  he  avoids  both  ex- 
planation and  companionship,  and  goes  alone. 

Stephen  naturally  thinks,  with  Milicent,  that 
many  things  are  different  in  the  city.  But  not  be- 
mg  inclined  to  study  manners  and  customs,  he 
quietly  smokes  a  peaceful  pipe,  chatting  with  the 
landlady,  and  the  few  farmers  and  countrymen 
who  are  inclined  to  keep  moderately  late  hours,  in 
conformity  to  city  ways. 

13 


XI. 


vv 


"  nenceforth 
The  course  of  life  that  seemed  so  flowery  to  me, 
Uocoiiies  tlio  sea-cliff  jiathway,  broken  short, 
And  ending  in  a  ruin." 

The  next  morning  the  travelers  make  an  early 
start  for   home.     Milicent   laughs  merrily  at  the 
slip-shod,  sleepy  appearance  of  the  streets,  so  gay 
and  full  of  fine  people  the  evening  before.     Here 
and   there  a  baker's  wagon  is  opening  its  queer, 
low,  cupboard-like  back  door,  to  dole  out  bread  to 
early  customers;  but  the  shops   look   somnolent, 
with  their  windows   like   great   eyes  fast   closed.' 
Every  now  and  then,  the  sun  peers,  with  a  white 
face  like  the  moon's,  out  of  the  dense  folds  of  a 
fog  pushed  for  an  instant  aside,  only  to  be  drawn 
down  again.     There  is  not  much  to  be  seen  of  the 
harbor,  save  the  masts  rising  up  like  spectre-ships 
out  of  dim  nothingness ;  or  a  fishing-weir  at  low- 
tide  left  bare  on  the  Carleton  side,  a  straggling  V 
of   bushy  brown  boughs   driven   upright  into  the 
brown  flats.     Back  and  forth,  and  in  and  out,  the 
sturdy  tug-boats  are  darting;  to  Milicent's  amuse- 
ment, as  she  sits  on  the  deck  of  the  Empress,  look- 
ing on. 

Stephen  stands  talking  to  a  knot  of  men,  across 
the  deck;  Urquhart  is  beside   her.     His  friends 


I'll.OT  FORTUNE. 


195 


having  ,lcc«l«d  la„t  night  that  they  wo,.M  n„t 
eiosM  tho  i.,.n,ly  in  a  fog,  and  there  being  thn»  no 
danger  of  a  rencontre,  he  has  fallen  easily  into 
Otcplien  8  views  as  to  the  return  trip. 

Ami  indoe<l  what  eo.ild  be  more  enjoyable,  than 
o  sit  thus  on  the  deck  with  Milicent,  and  share 
her  fresh  young  won.ler  and  delight  in  the  busy 
scene  around  her  ?  ' 

It  is  very  busy  and  crowded,  to  the  girl  whose 
thoughts  now  and  then  flash  back  to  the  tiny  piers 
of  the  fishmg-viUage,  which  once  seemed  bustline 
enough      This  grove  of  masts  reminds  hor  of  the 
dead  belt  of  spruce-trees  on  the  headland,  which 
the  fire  had  swept  by.  with  its  bl.asting  breath,  once 
on  a  time,  and  had  left  them  standing  wan  and 
melancholy  against  sea  and  sky.     But  this  remem- 
brance lasts  only  an  instant :  there  is  the  bustle  of 
lading;  and  the  throng,  or  so  it  seems  to  Milicent 
upon  the  wharf.     The  Boston  steamer  passes ;  a^d 
now  the   Empress   is   feeling  her  way  out  of  the 
harbor ;    and    the   fog  shuts   down    on   Milicent's 
partmg  view. 

The  sun,  however,  bums  the  fog  „p  before 
the  opposite  eoast-line  is  reached,  and  Milicent 
watches  the  land  grow  before  her,  with  a  thriU 
which  a  more  experienced  traveler  might  have 
missed.  Little  Bryer  Island  has  no  history ;  or  if 
It  had,  its  people  have  forgotten.  But  here,  two 
centuries  and  a  ''alf  ago,  how  the  earliest  French 
colonists  hearts  must  have  beat  high  on  entering 
this  safe  haven  from  stormy  seas, -never  dream- 
ing that  the  waves  of  war  would  roll  this  way,  and 


196 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


t 


sweep  them  from  their  settlement  at  Annapolis,  or 
Port-Real,  as  their  descendants  still  call  it.  But 
hew  they  could  have  passed  by  Digby  downs,  to  set- 
tle at  Annapolis  above,  it  would  be  hard  to  know. 

For  Digby  is  so  beautiful,  as  the  Empress  steams 
through  the  Gut,  the  gap  in  the  North  Mountain 
range,  cleft  for  the  Fundy,  which  here  sweeps  into 
a  bro^d  blue  basin  set  about  with  hills.  Hard  by 
the  strait,  and  where  Ben  Lomond  in  his  fir  robes 
stands  benign  an  tly  to  ward  ofE  Fundy  fogs,  pretty 
little  red  and  white  and  brown  Digby  under  its 
cherry-trees  climbs  the  promontory  between  the 
Raquette  and  the  Joggin  —  Indian  for  Snow-shoe 
and  Mitten,  the  shape  of  which  the  water  takes,  on 
either  side,  spread  out  in  blue  amid  green  slopes. 

Half  the  population  of  Digby,  and  all  the  sum- 
mer sojourners  in  the  lo  ely  little  watering-place, 
gather  on  the  long  pier  to  watch  the  coming  and 
going  of  the  Empress.  Miliccnt,  in  recalling  the 
scene  a  day  later,  will  look  back  with  a  sort  of 
longing,  as  one  who,  ywept  along  over  the  cata- 
ract, looks  back  at  the  smooth  stretch  ol  water 
gliding  on  merrily  up  to  the  very  brink. 

For  it  is  all  so  bright  and  sunny  and  cheery :  the 
lines  of  the  North  Mountain ;  the  village  stree^,s 
climbing  the  downs  in  terraces,  bowered  in  tre3S 
that  bring  a  blush  tc  Milicent's  cheek  for  her  poor 
balm-of-Gilead  at  home  ;  the  dancing  blue  water, 
witii  the  Empress  gliding  away,  the  white-wingfd 
fishing-boats  swooping  to  the  wa^es,  and  the  In- 
dian canoe  paddling  in,  to  set  its  queer  square  sail 
and  take  on  board  the  youns:  squaw  and  ho-d^t  or 


>-.  • 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


197 


little  one,  who  have  been  selling  baskets  and  moc- 
casins on  the  pier,  and  saying  a  few  words  to  Mil- 
icent,  beginning  with  the  soft  Indian  '' Bazouli^' 
and  ending  with  ''Adieu,''  learned  probably  from 
their  French  priests. 

Milicent  and  Urquhart  loiter  on  the  pier,  until 
Stephen  brings  the  carriage  for  the  drive  down  the 
French  shore,  just  opposite  Bryer  Island,  where 
the  Undine  is  to  meet  them.  It  is  a  long  drive; 
but  they  choose  it  instead  of  the  long  waiting  for 
the  evening  train :  the  rather,  as  Milicent's  eyes 
widen  with  something  like  terror,  when  for  the  first 
time  she  watches  the  engine  panting  to  and  fro, 
bringing  its  passengers  and  freight  for  the  Empress 
to  the  foot  of  the  pier. 

^  They  change  horses  at  Weymouth,  a  village  lying 
like  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  Wood,  on  her  rum- 
pled couch  of  hills,  her  loosened  silver  girdle  of  river 
trailing  off  across  her  lap.     They  have  driven  on, 
down  St.  Mary's  Bay,  now  distant  and  now  nearer:' 
when  presently  the  road  becomes  one  village  street, 
—  one  street  of  seventy  miles'  length,  that  stretches 
on  with  here  and  there  thin  spaces  where  some 
haUtaiit  has  added  field  to  field  about  his  house. 
Elsewhere,  the   cottages   straggle,   one   after   the 
other,  along  both  sir^es  of  the  road,  which  keeps 
the  undulations  of  the  coast,  green  hay-slopes  to  the 
right  and  left,  with  ripening  grain-fields  turning 
golden  in  a  snow-drift  of  buckwheat,  and  the  dark 
of  the  fir-wood  behind.    Under  the  verge  of  the  bil- 
lowy-green bank  lies  blue  St.  Mary's  Bay,  edged 
by  Long  Island,  where  the  North  Mmmfqi-r,  «o««.^ 


198 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


dwindles  into  steep,  red-brown,  wooded  cliffs,  sheer 
to  the  water's  brim.  Dwindles  and  dwindles,  un- 
til at  Greenhead,  on  Bryer  Island,  it  plunges  be- 
neath the  Atlantic. 

Here  and  there,  where  smooth  pebbles  have  been 
strangely  built  up  by  the  waves  into  a  sea-wall 
against  their  own  encroachments,  a  beach  thrusts 
out  a  long,  brown  arm,  with  a  pier  in  its  grasp,  or 
a  skeleton  ship,  half -built,  its  gaunt  ribs  standing 
up  against  the  sky.  At  Church  Point,  three  iron 
crosses,  surmounting  a  structure  of  brown  and 
withered  firs,  mark  where,  on  Corpus  Christi  Day, 
green  boughs  and  flowers  point  the  line  of  proces- 
sion —  the  French  Walk  —  from  the  church  to  the 
seashore.  First  v/alks  the  priest,  bearing  the  Holy 
Eucharist,  with  banner  and  crosses,  and  followed 
by  a  throng  of  white-robed  childrBn  and  white- 
veiled  girls,  scattering  flowers,  and  supported  by 
two  lines  of  the  devout.  Hundreds  and  hundreds, 
chanting  as  they  go,  they  reach  and  pass  the  Holy 
Stations,  turn  back  again  from  the  sea,  and  reach 
the  church  and  disappear  within  its  open  doors. 

Sometimes  the  priest  in  charge  here  is  French ; 
sometimes  Irish,  with  an  Irishman's  ready  wit  in 
exhorting  or  rebuking.  Such  an  one  may  be  chat- 
ting with  you  on  the  roadside,  as  you  stop  to  de- 
liver his  mail,  when  one  Pierre,  well  known  for 
a  wife-beater,  comes  up  to  him.  "  One  moment, 
Pierre,"  he  says  in  English,  knowing  the  man  un- 
derstands it ;  then  turns  to  you,  as  if  continuing  the 
conversation :  "  As  I  do  be  saying,  this  man  Peter, 
in  the  old  counti  v,  him  that  was  well  known  for  a 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


199 


wife-beater,  died  at  last,  and  his  wife  mourned  for 
him,  though  he  was  no  great  of  a  loss.  One  even- 
ing, she  comes  praying  at  the  grave  of  him,  and 
to  humble  herself  like,  she  ups  with  her  skirts,  and 
goes  down  on  her  bare  knees,  —  right  on  a  nettle 
growing  there.  'Och,  Peter,  Peter,'  she  says, 
'  though  't  is  dead  and  gone  ye  are,  the  sting  's 
there  still.'  " 

The  coachman  tells  the  story,  with  a  glance  over 
his  shoulder  for  Milicent's  approval.     In  the  old 
mail-stage  days  along  this  road,  he  was  accustomed 
to  look  out  for  the  entertainment,  as  well  as  the 
safety,  of  his  passengers ;  and  stored  away,  for  ready 
use,  many  an  anecdote  anent  the  stage,  with  him- 
self always  handling  the  reins.     It  was  he,  and  no 
one  else,  who  was  driving  the  crowded  stage  to 
Yarmouth  one  pitch-black  night,  when  the  wind 
was  blowing  fit  to  tear  the  luggage  from  the  rack 
behind,  and  one  Mr.  Campbell  incessantly  requir- 
ing to  be  assured  of  its  safety  there :  until  a  fellow- 
passenger  condoled  with  him  that  he  had  not  been 
born  an  elephant   rather  than  a  camel,  that   hf> 
might  have  had  his  trunk  always  before  him.    And 
it  was  he  and  no  one  else,  of  course,  to  whom,  when 
driving  the  American  lady-traveler  out  of  Digby, 
along  the  tide-drained  chasm  of  Bear  River,  she  re- 
marked that  she  had  never  known,  before  she  came 
to  Nova  Scotia,  what  an   addition  water  is  to  a 
river. 

As  he  tells  the  story  now,  the  day  is  waning ;  in 
the  barnyards  stand  the  oxen,  staring  idly  as  the 


strntJcrpra  nnHe  •    ■irr»nr1oT»  l>ln 


TTXUU     Vli.X'     "" 


VliX:     Vi  i-LkViXj 


■HWS" 


200 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


sails  of  homeward-flitting  fishing-boats;  and  the 
fields  ring  out  from  time  to  time  with  cheery 
French  voices,  as  the  hay  is  gathered  in.  The  sun 
drops  behind  Long  Island;  the  carriage  rattles 
down  the  one  road-street  of  its  final  stopping-place. 
Milicent  is  welcomed  into  the  cottage  "  hotel "  by- 
some  bright  -  eyed,  gentle  -  mannered  Evangeline, 
who  inquires  whether  she  has  "  travelld  par  le  rail- 
road ; "  while  Stephen  and  Urquhart  walk  across 
the  hayfields  to  the  seashore  to  see  if  the  Undine 
has  come  or  is  coming  in. 

But  there  is  no  sign  of  her.  Instead,  the  fog  is 
creeping  up,  and  neither  wind  nor  tide  gives  any 
encouragement  to  the  hiring  of  a  boat  to-night. 
There  is  nothing  better  to  be  done,  than  to  wait 
until  to-morrow  for  the  Undine. 


There  is  a  legend  of  a  traveler  astray  in  the 
forest,  who,  in  the  silence  round  about  him,  hears 
the  morning-bells  ring  out,  leading  him  on  until  he 
comes  upon  a  village  sunken  in  fair  meadows.  A 
village  of  the  olden  time ;  out  of  whose  cottages 
stream  a  procession  of  mediaeval  saints  and  sinners, 
whom  he  follows  (beckoned  on,  perhaps,  by  a  swift 
glance  from  some  pair  of  bright  eyes),  until  all 
vanish  under  the  church  porch.  Vanish,  —  holy 
bells  and  heavenward  spire  and  quaint  village,  all 
gone  as  a  dream  ;  and  the  traveler  stands  rubbing 
his  eyes,  staring  in  bewilderment  upon  the  blank 
of  quivering  greenery  before  him. 

Oftentimes  there  is  a  grain  of  modern  truth  in 
those  old  legends;   and  just  here,  on  the  French 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


201 


Shore  of  Clare,  it  seems  to  Urquhart  he  has  found 
It,  when,  the  next  morning  being  Sunday,  the 
blessed  bells  ring  out,  and  lo  I  the  old-time  gather- 
mg  at  the  church-door.  < 

If  among  the  groups  there  waiting  is  no  white- 
capped,  red-juped  Evangdline,  there  is  more  than 
one   m   nun-like   black,   with   gold   cross   on   her 
bosom,  and  the  graceful  black  silk  kerchief  tied 
three  corner-wise  over  her  head,  the  straight  fold 
drawn  forward  till  it  slightly  shades  the  face,  the 
ends  tied  in  a  true  French  knot  under  the  chin 
Perhaps  only  Evangdline,  with  her  clear-cut  fea- 
tures    her  warm  olive  and  peach  bloom,  and  her 
sott  bright  eyes,  brown  as   the  sloeberry,  would 
^ok  her  prettiest   under  that   quaint   head-gear. 
±Jut  there  is  more  than  one  Evange'line  here 

Inside  the  church,  it  is  difficult  to  believe  one 
has  not^  entered  into  the  midst  of  a  congregation 
ot  religieuses.     A  black-robed  multitude,  a  thou- 
sand  kneeling  as  one :  not  a  sound,  not  a  breath 
trom  them  breaking  the  silence.      Only  the  swing- 
mg  of  the  censer  chains  by  one  of  the  four  white- 
tunicked  altar-boys  ;  the  tinkling  of  the  altar-beU  • 
the  rustle  of  the  priest's   silk   vestment,    thrown 
oyer  his  shoulder  with  the  great  cross  broidered 
like  a  banner  on   his   back ;  the  murmur  of  his 
voice  at  his  Latin,  and  the  'chanting  of  the  sweet 
fresh  choir-voices  in  the  Agnus  Z)^i.     The  darken- 
mg  of  the  spacious  nave  with  all  that  black  con- 
centrates  ^:}e   light   about    the   altar,   white   and 
gilded,  with  i.s  twinkling  candles  and  brilliance  of 

fresh  flowf»ra      Mili^-^^^f  :-  —  i i 

1..,    irjuUivont  io  uu  ixei-  Knees ;  and  pres- 


202 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


ently  a  shivering  sob  escapes  her.  Stephen,  who 
is  next  her,  leans  slightly  forward  to  screen  her* 
He  is  very  sure  he  understands  :  it  is  the  reaction 
after  the  long  strain  ;  the  sudden,  overwhelming 
sense,  here  in  the  outer  court,  of  how  nearly  the 
gates  of  the  other  world  had  opened  to  her  on  that 
night  upon  the  sea. 

Yes;  but  if  he  had  known  the  thought  which 
choked  the  sob  ?  Is  life  as  solemn  a  thing,  after 
all,  as  death?  Dying,  she  would  fain  have  told 
her  lover  all  the  truth  about  herself ;  will  she,  liv- 
ing, venture  to  withhold  it  ? 

Urquhart  knows  nothing  of  her  conflict.  No 
doubts  are  troubling  him ;  he  has  seen  far  finer 
churches,  with  more  glow  and  glitter,  and  is  not 
paying  over  much  attention  here,  until  the  Latin 
is  put  by  for  the  French.  In  that,  the  priest  ex- 
horts his  people  to  the  keeping  of  the  Assumption 
as  the  national  Acadian  fSte,  to  the  improving, 
temporellement,  moralement,  et  spiritueUcment^  of 
the  Acadiens:  — a  word  of  warning  thrown  in,  as 
to  the  danger  of  being  tempted  to  stray  from  the 
true  faith,  by  intercourse  with  Boston,  for  instance. 
Boston  ways  and  fashions  are  called  to  mind,  per- 
haps, by  Milicent's  new  hat  in  a  front  pew,  conspic- 
uous among  the  kerchiefed  heads.  Unconscious 
Milicent,  who  misses  Urquhart's  amused  glance. 

The  Undine  is  well  in  sight,  white  upon  blue  St. 
Mary's  Bay,  when  her  passengers  come  out  of 
church ;  and  they  are  soon  waiting  for  her,  pacing 
up  and  down  the  beach  under  the  overhanging 
hayfields. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


203 


Presently  Milicent   stoop,,  with  a  little,   eager 

7£\:l^'''''^ "' '"'"  «""^  -p  "^y  '"^^  -V- 

"  Who  knows  -  perhaps  it  c-me  from  home," 

She  is  balancing  herself  on  a  bit  of  reek  on  the 

T^!  h    ,*YJ^^':  ^  «''«  S»^  wistfully  across. 
Urquhart  follows  her  eyes,  half  jealously. 

o„f.^f\l'"^f'^^  '^y''  "'*  '^  S°"g  to  fade 
soon^  from  your  horizon,   one   day  very 

She  looks  round  with  a  frightened  blush.  But 
btephen  has  walked  on  towards  the  landing  place ; 
^thart"-  ~^^"^  '""^  ''^'"'^^  confidentially  to  Ur- 

"Do  jrou  know,  I  am  very  sure  I  shall  prefer 
Venice  to  any  other  city  in  the  world  '  " 

"Why  Venice?  "he  asks. 

"  Because,  as  there  are  no  carriages  there,  one  is 
not  forced  to  drive." 

„.!?/'"  \^  '^^^^  ^"^  y""'  ^^  y"  w"l  take  the 
gondolas,  and  not  frighten  me  with  the  idea  that 

you  have  lost  yourself,  as  you  did  yesterday  even- 

''Lost!"  exclaims  Milicent,   in   infinite  scorn. 

as  St.  John  !  With  some  one  or  something  to  set 
one  right  every  few  steps,  one  cannot  rightly  be 
said  to  be  lost.  It  was  much  more  like  it,  when 
we  were  drifting  over  the  wide  Atlantic,  the  black 
-^  ..^„  ^  uuvvixxig:  wiiaemess  as  the  black  sea. 


11 


204 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


I 


■ 


But  when  the  stars  came  out,  and  we  could  tell  at 
least  the  north  from  the  south,  it  was  not  so  very 
dreadful.  I  was  never  in  my  life  so  glad  to  see 
anything,  as  that  north  star." 

"  I  must  confess  the  sight  of  the  schooner  was  a 
much  greater  relief  to  me  than  the  stars  co"ld  pos- 
sibly be.  The  Undine  seemed  a  mere  cockle-shell 
when  you  were  not  quite  sure  you  were  not  on  mid- 
ocean.  The  relief  you  feel  when  safely  over  such 
an  adventure  is  so  great,  it  is  almost  a  repayment 
for  the  anxiety." 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  felt  anxious  to  that  extent," 
replies  Milicent.  "  Even  now,  I  do  not  shrink 
from  the  recollection  as  from  something  altogether 
horrible.  Some  day,  perhaps,  we  will  both  look 
back  to  it  almost  with  i)leasure." 

"  It  will  be,  then,  when  we  have  something  worse 
than  death  to  face." 

"  I  did  not  think  there  was  anything  worse  than 
death,"  says  Milicent,  with  a  shudder. 

Urquhart  ..ees  it ;  so  he  says  lightly  :  — 

"  Venice,  shall  it  be,  then,  Milicent  ?  " 

"  Ah,"  with  a  long,  happy  sigh,  "  how  much  I 
have  to  see  I  —  and  I  shall  see  all,  really,  really?" 
—  looking  up  at  him  wistfully. 

Can  anything  be  more  delightful  than  to  have 
the  world  to  show  to  this  fresh  little  girl?  As  Ur- 
quhart answers  her  glance  now,  he  forgets  what  he 
may  have  wished  some  day  or  two  ago  :  ha  would 
not  have  her  one  whit  less  unsophisticated  and 
worldly-ignorant  than  she  is.  And  so  he  begins, 
as  they  walk  on,  to  tell  her  some  of  the  wonderful 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


205 


>» 


,  things  which  he  will  have  to  show  her.  When 
suddenly,  as  he  looks  into  her  face,  he  sees  it  has 
turned  very  pale. 

He  stops  short.  "  Milicent,  you  are  tired  ?  This 
is  all  too  much  for  you !  You  should  not  have 
walked  out  this  morning." 

"No  —  no."  And  then  she  says  slowly:  "Do 
you  suppose,  if  one  should  get  one  glimpse  of  para- 
dise, and  then  the  gates  were  shut,  it  would  all  be 
much  worse  than  it  was  before,  outside  ?  " 

What  man  would  not  have  drunk  in  the  subtile 
and  unconscious  flattery?  He  draws  her  hand 
with  eager  ownership  into  his  arm,  and  keeps  it 
there  as  he  leads  her  on. 

"What  do  we  care  about  the  outside,  sweet- 
heart?   You  and  I  will  be  inside,  together." 

"  Ah,  but  if  "  —  her  voice  is  low  and  hesitat- 
ing_"if  there  should  be  something  that  might 
keep  me  outside  ?  " 

"We  would  stay  outside  together,  and  that  would 
be  paradise.  Why,  Milicent,  do  you  think  there 
could  be  any  paradise  for  me,  without  you  ?  Do 
you  not  know  there  is  nothing  I  would  dread,  but 
being  parted  from  you  ?  " 

Milicent  stands  still  on  the  beach,  and  clasps 
her  two  hands  over  his  arm,  in  a  sort  of  hurried  in- 
sistence. 

"  Say    that    again !  "   she    cries,    breathlessly. 
"  Again  !  —  if  you  can." 
Of  course  he  Gays  it  again. 
Perhaps,  if  the  girl's  eyes  were  not  looking  up 


he  might   remember  there  are 


206 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


several  other  things  he  might  have  some  dread  of, 
besides  that  parting  which  seems  an  impossibility 
out  of  all  reckoning.  But  as  it  is,  he  does  not 
remember :  still  less,  when  Milicent  lets  her  two 
hands  fall,  with  a  soft-drawn  breath  ;  and  with  the 
color  coming  back  into  her  face,  begins :  -— 

"  Then  I  may  tell  you  "  — 

A  footstep  sounds  behind  them :  it  is  Stephen 
coming  to  look  for  them.  "  The  tide  is  turning," 
he  says ;  "  wind  too  in  our  favor ;  and  the  sooner 
we  are  off,  the  better." 

Urquhart  frowns.  Why  is  the  fellow  always 
breaking  in  at  the  wrong  time  ?  —  and  just  now, 
when  Milicent  has  no  doubt  something  to  tell  of 
"  the  old  old  story  that  keeps  the  world  from  grow- 
ing old."  ^ 

But  Milicent  has  turned  to  meet  Stephen ;  a 
smile,  very  like  one  of  relief,  dawning  in  her  face. 

It  is  near  sunset  when  the  Undine  sweeps  into 
Grand  Passage,  between  the  foam-lashed  light- 
house island  and  the  high  red  bluffs  and  cottage- 
sprinkled  green  slopes  of  Long  Island:  and  the 
white  street  of  Westport  curves  in  front. 

Stephen  is  steering ;  Urquhart,  lying  on  a  sail 
in  the  bow  of  the  yacht,  is  asleep  or  very  drowsy. 
Milicent  is  glad  to  see  the  old  fish-houses,  and 
says  so. 

"I  always  thought  if  I  were  once  away,  I  should 
never  care  to  come  back.  But  now  I  am  sure 
that,  no  matter  where  I  go,  I  shall  think  of  the  old 
place  with  a  sort  of  longing.  Looking  back  may 
become  In  time  as  pleasant  as  looking  forward." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


SOT 


I  am  giad  to  hear  you  say  so,  MiUy.  I  never 
liked  to  tliink  you  were  willing  to  forget  so  imieh 
of  your  life  as  you  said  you  were.  It  has  not  been 
altoge  her  miserable  ?  There  have  been  some  bright 
hours  ?  I  used  to  think,  when  you  were  a  little  one, 
you  never  heeded  anything  except  a  rainy  day." 

Yrn  ^^  ""^'^  wretched  trials !  and  I  was  so 
dreadfully  naughty  every  time  a  long  storm  came, 
that  Aimt  Ursula  had  a  horror  of  them  too.  I 
never  felt,  until  now,  that  I  would  be  sorry  to  leave 
Aunt  rsula  She  has  never  cared  in  the  least 
tor  me ;  but  that  is  from  no  fault  of  hers." 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  fault  not  to  care  for  you  " 
says  Stephen,  glancing  at  the  young,  eager  face, 
whose  very  earnestness  n.akes  it  beautiful. 

"  But  you  never  judge  of  me  as  others  do.      Be- 
sides    she  adds  with  a  laugh,  "  I  do  not  think  Aunt 
Ursula  has  ever  seen  me  in  her  life," 
^    "  You  mean  she  judges  you  hardly.     I  think  it 
IS  a  common  fault  with  people  as  they  grow  older 
and  especially  if  they  have  passed  through  great 
trouble,  to  judge  young  people  hardly.     It  alwavs 
seems  to  me,  Milly,  Miss  Ursula  has  gone  through 
some  great  trial  that  has  made  her  different  from 
every  one  else  in  the  world.     Something  you  and 
I  know  nothing  about."  "^ 

"But  that  is  not  the  reason  Aunt  Ursula  dis- 
Ikes  me.     My  chief  sin  in  her  eyes  is  that  I  am 
like  my  mother." 

"That  is  very  unreasonable  in  Miss  Ursula,  I 
must  say.  How  can  you  help  your  looks  ?  "  asks 
otephen,  smiling. 


208 


PILOT  FOIiTUNE. 


"  1  do  not  mean  my  fact',"  she  says,  impatiently. 
"  How  much  you  men  think  of  our  ai)j)earance. 
Aunt  Ursula  disliked  my  mother,  and  in  many 
ways  she  thinks  I  resemble  lier." 

"  I  have  heard  that  sisters-in-law  arc  apt  to  have 
an  aversion  for  each  other ;  though  I  never  under- 
stood the  cause  of  it,"  remarks  Stephen  in  excuse 
of  Miss  Ursula,  of  whom  he  is  fond,  despite  her 
forbidding  manner,  and  her  evident  coldness  to 
Milicent.  *'  Why  did  Miss  Ursula  dislike  your 
mother,  Milly?" 

"  I  think  Aimt  Ursula's  chief  cause  of  displeas- 
ure was  that  my  mother  could  not  live  through 
troublea  a^  she  did,  but  died  and  left  them  behind 
her." 

There  is  such  an  unnatural  ring  of  bitterness, 
one  might  say  of  cynicism,  in  Milicent's  careless 
words,  that  Stephen  is  at  once  moved  to  defend 
Miss  Ursula.  "  No  doubt  Miss  Ursula  thought  if 
your  mother  had  been  braver,  she  would  have  out- 
lived her  troubles.  It  is  difficult  for  strong  hearts 
to  sympathize  with  those  who  are  weaker,"  he  says, 
apologetically. 

"  She  thought  at  least  she  could  live  without 
showing  she  was  hurt,"  says  Milicent,  not  at  all 
resenting  his  warmth.  "  Aunt  Ursula  i  .>  of  the  same 
stuft  martyrs  are  made  of.  She  wDJ  n^t-^cv  flinch, 
no  matter  how  one  tortures  her ;  and,  moreover, 
she  has  no  patience  with  any  one  who  has  not  just 
her  amount  of  courage.  Sometimes  I  wonder  if  I 
?5>i>^dd  die,  as  my  poor  mother  did,  if  a  great 
Xik  ibl*i^  came  to  me?" 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


209 


"  I  do  not  think  you  would,  Milly.  You  have 
more  of  Miss  Ursuhv's  spirit  in  you  than  you 
tlunk.  I  eihaps  that  is  just  the  reason  she  is  hard 
on  you  at  tinioa:  you  hold  out  too  bravely." 

"  I,  like  Aunt  Ursula,  indeed  ! "  exclaims  Mili- 
cent,  derisively.  "  Why,  the  other  night  I  eried 
myself  to  sleep,  for  no  reason  but  because  the 
world  seemed  so  very  big,  and  people  so  difficult 
to  understand.  Fancy  Aunt  Ursula  crying  herself 
to  sleej) ! " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  has,  many  a  time,  only  she 
IS  not  so  honest  in  confessing  it.  Has  the  world 
grown  smaller  to-day  ? "  asks  Stephen,  glancing 
over  where  Urquhart  is  making  some  sign  of  rous- 
mg  himself. 

"  Yes,  there  are  but  three  people  in  the  world 
to-day,"  declares  Milicent,  merrily.  "  It  was  fool- 
ish  in  me  to  fancy  I  would  like  a  crowd,  —  the 
world,  I  mean.  I  am  afraid  I  never  can.  I  hope 
1  wdl  find  Aunt  Ursula  a  little  worried  about  us, 
so  that  I  may  have  a  chance  to  tell  her  I  am  dad 
to  get  home." 

"  Of  course  she  has  been  anxious  and  unhappy 
about  you,  Milly."  ^^ 

"  I  hope  she  will  say  so,  then." 

"  See  what  a  crowd  there  is  on  the  piers !  I 
wonder  if  there  is  anything  the  matter  ? "  says 
Urquhart,  coming  towards  them. 

"They  have  caught  sight  of  tlie  Undine.  You 
don  t  suppose  they  will  go  on  quietly  drinking  tea, 
when  they  know  we  are  coming  ?  " 

"  Vastly  kind  in  them :  though  I  don't  think  I 

14 


210 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I 


ever  observed  they  took  very  much  interest  in  us 
berore. 

"  Wliy  should  they  ?  "  says  Milicent.  «  As  long 
as  we  were  just  like  every  one  else  around  us,  I 
can  t  see  what  possible  interest  they  could  find  in 

"  Interest  meaning  curiosity,"  suggests  Urquhart, 
coming  to  where  they  are  sitting. 

"  Generally ;  but  not  with  that  little  crowd  on 
the  piers,"  says  Stephen.  "  They  have  been  very 
anxious  about  us  ;  and  a  fisherman  is  always  glad 
when  f\Q  sea  is  cheated  of  its  prey." 

"It  being  his  habit  to  rob  the  sea,  he  does  not 
like  to  pay  it  back,"  Urquhart  suppose^. 

"  He  very  often  has  to  do  it.  There  is  nothing 
more  patliptic  than  a  fisherman's  fune.al,  when  the 
poor  fellow  is  drowned,  and  the  body  found.  Per- 
haps  that  iy  because  it  so  seldom  is  found." 

"I  don't  see  Aunt  Ursula,  nor  Thomas,"  says 
Milicent,  scanning  the  crowd.  "  I  wonder  if  anv 
one  has  told  them  ?  " 

They  are  at  the  pier  now,  and  Urquhart  and 
Stephen  are  occupied  in  bringing  the  Undine 
round  handsomely. 

A  few  minutes  more,  and  they  liave  all  landed, 
and  are  receiving  the  heartfelt,  though  somewhat 
rough  greetings  of  ^he  little  crowd.  Certainly 
there  are  as  many  gathered  together  as  on  the  Sat- 
urday  of  Urquhart's  arrival  with  the  fishing-boats. 
He  recalls  the  scene  of  that  day,  with  the  odd  im- 
pression of  one's  ignorance  of  what  will  hapjDen  to 
one  m  the  course  of  but  a  very  few  weeks.     A 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


211 


on 


rather  doubtful  pleasur;,.trip,  wliieli  was  to  have 
lasted  as  many  d:iy^,  has  managed  to  shape  the 
whole  of  his  co.nmg  life.  The  rest  of  his  days, 
though  he  miglit  live  long  in  the  land,  could  never 
bear  witli  such  influence  upon  his  happiness,  he  i^ 
very  sure. 

"  We  'd  made  up  our  minds  the  fish  had  got  you. 
They  are  as  greedy  folk  after  us,  as  we  are  after 
them,"  says  one  of  the  fishermen,  pressing  forward 
to  shake  hands  with  him. 

"  We  have  fooled  them  this  time,"  answers  Ur- 
quhart,  liglitly.  "  Though  I  can't  see  much  dif- 
ference  between  fish  a::d  worms,  if  one  has  to  be 
devoured." 

"  Don't  say  it,  sir,  don't  say  it.  It 's  bad  luck  to 
be  uncivil  to  the  finny  folk  where  they  can  hear 
you." 

"  So,  you  're  one  of  the  lucky  ones,"  remarks  an- 
other fisherman,  who  has  been  attentively  listening 
to  Stephen's  account  of  the  squall.     "  A  man  who 
weathers  a  brown  squall  in  these  waters,  in  a  craft 
like  y-n,  is  likely  to  die  in  his  bed.     And  it 's  a 
heap  more  comfortable  for  the  breath  to  go  out  of 
one  little  by  little,  than  to  have  it  choked  out  by 
a  great,  ugly  wave.     A  quiet  death-bed,  with  one's 
folks  decently  crying  round,  does  a  power  of  good, 
more  than  the  parson's  sermon.    No  matter  how  ill 
a  man  lives,  he  '11  do  his  best  to  die  respectably,  if 
he  has  half  a  chance.     But  if  one  is  drowned  in 
the  sea  "  — 

"Then  God  himself  preaches,"  interrupts   old 
Angus.     '  And  it 's  a  solemn,  awesome  sermon,  of 


>«-wvl*l 


212 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


the  same  kind  the  tliunder  and  lightning  is  made 
of.  You  '11  never  think,  while  struggling  with  the 
sea,  what  folks  are  saying  or  thinking  about  you. 
It 's  just  wonderful  for  knocking  the  conceit  out  of 
you ;  for  you  are  as  good  as  nothing  at  all,  when 
the  big  waves  are  tossing  you  about,  as  if  you  were 
no  more  account  than  a  wisp  of  straw.  I  was 
picked  up  once  for  dead,  on  the  shore  over  there," 
he  adds,  as  if  apologizing  for  knowing  so  muJh 
more  about  drowning  than  the  rest  of  them. 

"  Mrs.  Featherstone,"  —  asks  Milicent  of  the  vil- 
lage shop-keeper,  who,  with  the  broadest  of  smiles 
on  her  round,  rosy  face,  but  tiie  water  standing  in 
her  friendly  blue  eyes,  has  been  the  foremost  with 
her  greetings,  especially  for  Urqnhart,  —  "  have 
you  seen  or  heard  anything  of  Aunt  Ursula  ?  " 

"  Not  I.  She  is  too  handily  in  black  to  need 
anything  of  me  at  short  notice.  It  has  its  draw- 
backs, though  :  for  when  afflictions  come,  folks  are 
apt  to  overlook  you,  if  you  wear  the  gown  they  're 
used  to  see  you  in,"  —  and  she  smoothes  down  her 
own  black  sleeve  with  a  plump  hand  that  trembles 
a  little.  "  I  thought  may  be  Miss  Ursula  would 
need  a  yard  or  so  of  black  ribbon  ;  but  she  did  n't." 
"  Not  quite  so  soon  as  this  !  Aunt  Ursula  can- 
not have  given  up  all  hope  of  us  so  soon !  "  says 
Milicent,  hastily. 

"  I  can't  say  there  was  much  of  what  you  call 
hope  about  it.  It  blew  fit  to  leave  the  island  bald  ; 
and  such  a  sea  as  'd  bother  a  fish  !  It  was  n't  so 
long :  but  none  of  the  men  put  much  faith  in  yon 
pleasure-boat,  —  she 'd  turn  turtle  in   the  squall, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


213 


they  knew.     But  then,  men  always  know  so  much, 
--  more  than  the  Ahnighty  himself  at  times.    Not 
that  the  women  are  far  behind  them.     They  make 
cocksure  the  prints  are  going  to  fade  white  before 
they  are  in  the  suds :  unless  they  come  out  all  right, 
and  then  they  are  ready  to  swear  they  knew  they 
were  fast  colors.     And  that  reminds  me,"  —  adds 
Mrs.  Featherstone,  dropping   he     voice  confiden- 
tially, with  what  she  would  have  called  a  lee  wink, 
— •  "there  's  that  beautiful  a-white  muslin  the  Do^ 
minion  fetched  a-Saturday,  by  Miss  Ursula's  or- 
ders.    I  'd  hardly  the  heart  to  unpack  my  boxes, 
thinkmg   upon   the   storm,  —  I  was   like  a  buoy 
that 's  gone  adrift,  till  I  sighted  that  white  muslin. 
And  then  I  turned  to,  and  clapped  the  scissors  into 
It,  and  put  on  a  puff  here,  and  a  flounce  fore  and 
aft,  as  it  might  be.     Wheel  there,  steady !  says  I 
to  myself :  we  'II  make  for  the  wedding-port,  and 
that  '11  be  a  lucky  omen  for  the  Undine.    And  it 's 
a  mighty  proud  woman  1  am  this  day,  that  it 's  the 
white  that  is  wanted,  not  the  black." 

Milicent  colors  like  a  rose,  and  says  hurriedly,  -^ 
"  The  men  were  wrong  if  they  gave  us  up  for 
lost.     And  as  to  the  Undine,  she  behaved  beauti- 
fully," she  adds,  with  pride. 

"  You  're  safe  because  you  had  Stephen  along," 
declares  one  of  the  men  standing  near.  "  What 
ever  made  him  a  farmer,  when  he  is  a  born  sailor, 
I  can't  say ;  only  I  always  maintain  it 's  against 
nature,  and  so  it 's  all  wrong." 

i^^!;.  ^""^"^^f ^   ^^^   skipper,"    says    Milicent 


Stlfflv.  as  sliA  wqIIj-q 


She  would  not  confess 


214 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


that  all  the  risk  they  had  run  was  through  Ur- 
quhart's  headstrongness. 

ApjDareiitly,  Stephen  and  Urquhart  have  no 
chance  to  escape  until  they  have  given  a  minute 
account  of  their  many  vicissitudes,  and  listened  to 
many  remarkable  comments  upon  them.  The 
whole  world  might  have  been  convulsed  by  some 
great  throe,  physical  or  political,  and  ^^^he  little  vil- 
lage would  have  been  perfectly  indifferent.  But 
that  a  boat  from  its  own  harbor,  and  carrying  some 
of  its  own  people,  should  have  been  in  imminent 
peril,  is  of  vivid  interest  to  the  whole  community. 

Milicent  has  slipped  away,  unseen,  from  the 
group  surrounding  her  two  companions.  It  is  very 
evident  their  return  is  a  resurrection  from  the 
dead,  to  the  people  on  the  pier :  and  though  she  is 
anxious,  perhaps  a  little  curious,  to  see  what  effect 
the  ill  tidings  had  upon  her  own  household,  she 
does  not  wish  for  any  spectators  when  she  an- 
nounces herself  alive  and  well.  Nor  does  she  wish 
the  news  of  her  safety  to  reach  her  aunt  before  her. 
So  she  hastens  on,  with  all  the  imprudent  desire  of 
youth  to  see  things  just  as  they  are. 

And  Milicent  is  satisfied :  for  Miss  Ursula,  who 
seldom  goes  to  the  front  of  the  house,  has  not  seen 
the  unwonted  gathering  of  the  village  people  on  the 
pier,  but  is  busy  with  her  usual  household  avoca- 
tions when  Milicent  comes  into  the  kitchen. 

Miss  Ursula  has  her  back  to  the  door  when  the 
girl  enters,  —  who,  feeling  very  much  as  if  she  were 
the  ghost  of  herself,  and  might  startle  the  living, 
calls  out  softly  ;  — 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


215 


" Aunt  Ursula"  — 

Miss  Ursula  turns,  with  a  perplexed  look  in  her 
eyes,  as  though  she  suspected  herself  of  being  ner- 
vous, or  under  a  delusion. 

But  the  bodily  presence  of  Milicent  standing  in 
the  doorway  is  of  itself  convincing. 

A  look  of  relief  sweeps  over  Miss  Ursula's  face ; 
but  It  passes  so  quickly  that  Milicent  is  not  sure 
it  was  not  a  delusion  on  her  part. 

Miss  Ursula's  sharp  voice  is  none,  as  she  asks : 
"  Where  have  you  been,  all  this  time  ?  " 
"  At  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  where  I  fancy  you 
would  rather  I  had  stayed.     Are  you  so  very  sorry 
to  see  me  at  home  again.  Aunt  Ursula?  " 

"  Sorry !  Why  should  1  be  ?  It  is  for  you  to 
judge  whether  your  life  is  worth  living  or  not." 

"  I  have  a  little  faith  in  its  wholesomeness.  At 
any  rate,  I  prefer  being  alive,  to  undergoing  the 
fish-devouring  process  our  neighbors  were  fancying 
for  us,"  says  Milicent,  carelessly,  though  inwardly 
deeply  hurt  by  her  aunt's  cool  reception. 

"  You  believe  so  now;  nevertheless,  the  day  will 
come  when  you  will  think  a  quick  death  preferable 
to  a  long  life.  But  you  never  fished  up  a  new  hat 
from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,"  continues  Miss  Ur- 
sula, wHh  a  glance  at  Milicent's  head-gear. 

"  Oh,  we  have  been  shopping  in  St.  John,  and 
have  had  a  rare  good  time  of  it,"  says  the  girl, 
lightly.  ^'  I  cannot  imagine  why  you  never  say  one 
kind  word  for  the  great  world,  when  it  looks  so 
pleasant." 

"  On  the  surface,  perhaps.    But  you  were  scarcely 


,.-••''% 


216 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


consented 


so  imprudent  as  to  go  to  St.  John 
cannot  see  how  Stephen  could  ha 
anything  so  rash  and  indiscreet," 
sula,  with  marl.i^d  displeasure. 

"He  did,  however,  and  was  glad  when  a  schooner 
offered  to  take  us  in  tow.  I  do  not  see  why  you 
should  care,  since  you  were  not  anxious  about  us." 
'I  Why  should  I  be,  if,  as  you  say,  you  were  en- 
joying  yourself,  and  shopi^ing  for  a  new  hat?  If 
you  had  been  in  any  great  danger,  you  might  have 
expected  nie  to  be  anxious  about  you." 

"I  don't  know  that  I  would.  It  was  Stephen 
who  expected  it.  I  could  have  told  him  you  wasted 
nothing,  not  even  so  cheap  a  thing  as  pity,"  says 
Milicent,  bitterly. 

She  does  not  wait  to  hear  Miss  Ursula  s  reply, 
but  turns  from  the  kitchen  to  go  up-stairs  to  change 
her  dress ;  perhaps,  too,  to  hide  the  bitter  tears 
flashing  into  her  eyes.  She  had  hastened  home, 
thinking  to  find  some  trace  of  sorrow  or  anxiety  ; 
and  instead,  everything  is  going  on  as  usual  in  the 
great,  dismal  house. 

It  never  occurs  to  Milicent,  that,  as  she  appeared 
in  the  doorway,  smiling  and  wearing  a  new  hat,  a 
great  fear  died  out  of  Miss  Ursula's  heart;  and  the 
natural  feeling  of  irritation  after  what  one  deems 
a  waste  of  pain  is  apt  to  make  one  sharp. 

If  Milicent  had  given  only  a  hint  of  the  great 
danger  just  passed  through,  she  would  not  have 
been  so  cruelly  hurt  and  mortified.  Is  it  only 
years,  which  separate  these  two  ?  —  the  one  think- 
ing the  other  light  and  frivolous ;  and  the  other 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


217 


very  sure  her  aunt  is  always  unjust  and  hard  on 
her.  Is  it  only  the  score  of  years  between  them  ? 
Or  is  it  something  they  will  not  or  cannot  forget, 
and  which  belongs  to  the  past  ? 

As  Milicent  crosses  the  hall  to  the  stairs,  the 
open  door  shows  her  Urquhart  coming  to  the  house ; 
he  having  followed  her  as  soon  as  lie  had  missed 
her.  She  goes  out  to  him  ;  and  they  are  standing 
together  at  the  gate,  when  Thomas  comes  up. 

The  Undine  was  riding  at  anchor,  when  Thomas's 
little  fishing-boat  sailed  into  the  harbor.  The  crowd 
was  dispersing ;  but  there  are  always  some  strag- 
glers ready  to  impart  either  good  or  evil  news,  so 
that  Thomas  had  an  ojDportunity  to  hear  many  ver- 
sions of  Milicent's  adventure  before  he  reached 
home. 

He  comes  forward  now,  hastily,  the  lines  which 
anxious  hours  have  graven  on  his  face  not  yet 
erased  by  the  sudden  good  news. 

"You  are  safe  !  "  he  exclaims,  never  heeding  Ur- 
quhart's  presence,  and  stooping  to  kiss  the  pretty, 
flower-like  face,  that  blooms  into  a  sudden  scarlet 
under  the  unwonted  caress.  "  We  have  had  a  fine 
scare  about  you,  and  I  have  been  to  the  island  to 
look  for  you.  And  lo  and  behold,  you  have  been 
making  a  voyage  to  the  world  !  " 

Thomas  does  not  offer  to  shake  hands  with  Ur- 
quhart, who  has  shared  Milicent's  peril ;  but  walks 
round  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  disappears. 

"  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should  refuse  me 
your  kisses,  and  yet  give  them  freely  to  a  fisher- 
man," remarks  Urquhart,  with  displeasure. 


218 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  thought  that  was  taken,  not  given,"  says  Mil- 
icent,  still  deeply  flushed,  but  trying  to  laugh  it 
off.  "  You  forget  this  is  no  common  occasion,  and  1 
have  been  kissed  by  all  the  women  in  the  village." 

"  But  not  by  the  men,  that  I  perceived,"  remarks 
Urquhart,  dryly. 

Milicent  half  turns  away  ;  then  she  turns  back, 
with  a  trembling  pallor  in  her  face  where  the  color 
has  died  out :  and  her  lips  quivering.  There  is  an 
air  of  hesitation  about  her.  One  might  fancy  she 
is  trying  to  speak,  and  is  afraid. 

"  You  do  not  understand,"  —  she  begins,  falter- 
ingly.  "  I  remember  him  always  —  ever  since  I  was 
so  high,"  — marking  the  distance  with  her  hand 
from  the  ground.     "  And  —  and  "  — 

A  voice  is  heard  calling  her  just  then :  Miss 
Ursula's. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  says,  hastily.  "  Why  will  you 
never  learn  that  you  must  not  come  here  after  sun- 
set ?     That  Aunt  Ursula  does  not  like  it?  " 

"  What  do  I  care  for  Miss  Ursula  ?  Let  her 
call." 

"Presently  she  will  come  out  and  order  you 
away  :  which  you  will  not  like  in  the  least,  for  you 
will  have  to  obey  her.  Discretion  is  much  better 
than  blind  courage." 

"  The  knowledge  that  this  state  of  things  will 
not  last  much  longer,  helps  me  to  be  discreet. 
Soon  you  will  be  all  my  own,  with  no  Miss  Ursula 
to  interfere." 

"  And  you  will  have  the  monopoly  of  fault-find- 
ing which  Aunt  Ursula  enjoys.    You  will  not  deny 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


219 


»» 


that  you  will  profit  by  it.     The  few  hours  we  were 
in  St.  John  proved  your  capabilities." 

"  But  our  position  was  so  very  peculiar,  and  you 
were  so  vastly  ignorant,"  begins  Urquhart. 

"  Which  is  to  say  I  am  a  sad  dunce.  No  matter ; 
I  shall  learn  so  quickly,  I  will  astonish  my  master, 
and  soon  set  up  theories  of  my  own.  I  don't  mean 
always  to  be  in  leading-strings.  There,  do  not 
grow  really  angry,  for  Aunt  Ursula  wants  me,  and 
I  cannot  stop  to  explain  myself." 

It  is  Thomas  who  wants  Milicent,  though  Miss 
Ursula  has  called  her.  He  is  anxious  to  know 
something  of  her  adventure  from  her  own  lips. 

But  he  is  not  to  do  so ;  for  Urquhart  has  stopped 
her. 

"  One  moment,  Milicent." 

He  is  looking  at  two  men  who  are  coming  over 
the  hill  this  way,  together.     Stephen,  and  — 

Urquhart  recognizes  the  new-comer  at  once. 

To  find  more  friendship  than  one  is  expecting 
may  chance  to  be  irritating.  Urquhart  has  been 
looking  for  a  letter  from  his  former  guardian,  the 
only  person  whom  he  considered  it  necessary,  as  a 
mere  act  of  courtesy  or  friendliness,  to  inform  of 
his  speedy  marriage.  Mr.  Raymond  no  doubt  con- 
sidered it  an  equal  act  of  friendliness  on  his  part 
to  remonstrate  with  his  former  ward  against  such 
an  unfortunate  step  as  this  marriage  would  most 
certainly  be.  With  his  position  and  money,  Ur- 
quhart ought  to  make  a  briUiant  match ;  and  that  he 
should  throw  himself  away  on  a  fisherman's  daugh- 
ter,—for  such  Mr.  Raymond  supposed  Milicent, 


U  'I 


220 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


—  that  gentleman  was  not  inclined  to  contemplate 
for  an  instant.  He  was  too  wise  to  write  liis  re- 
monstrance. Urquhart  might  read  a  letter  or  not, 
as  lie  pleased ;  but  he  would  be  obliged  to  listen  : 
and  if  his  friend's  eloquence  or  good  connnon-sense 
view  of  the  position  failed  to  convince  the  young 
man,  no  doubt  it  would  be  possible  to  buy  off  the 
girl's  relations,  so  that  they  would  interfere.  For 
Mr.  Raymond  had  divined  that  poverty  was  a 
marked  feature  of  Milicent's  surroundinirs. 

He  had  arrived  the  day  before,  by  the  weekly 
steamer  from  Yarmouth,  which  also  brought,  in 
Mrs.  Featherstone's  stores,  the  white  muslin  dress 
Miss  Urs\ila  had  promised  for  the  wedding.  He 
had  shared,  albeit  silently,  the  anxiety  of  the  village 
for  the  missing  Undine  ;  and  being  late  on  the  pier, 
and  meeting  Stephen  there,  he  had  been  put  under 
his  care,  to  be  shown  the  house  where  Urquhart 
was  most  likely  to  be  found. 

"  I  had  no  idea  there  were  any  gentry  living  in 
these  parts,"  Mr.  Raymond  had  begun  by  remark- 
ing, as  the  two  men  crossed  the  hill,  to  Miss  Ur- 
sula's. "I  thought  fishermen  were  too  rough  to 
make  pleasant,  or  even  safe  neighbors.  But  there, 
over  the  fields,  is  a  j^retty  place,  evidently  a  farm- 
house. By  the  way,  Mr.  Ferguson,  what  is  Ur- 
quhart's  fiancee's  father  ?  " 

"  She  has  none." 

"  Indeed  !  nor  mother  ?" 

"  No  ;  only  an  aunt." 

Mr.  Raymond  does  not  say  that  is  fortunate,  — 
though  his  tone  of  voice  implies  as  much. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


001 


"  Of  course  ahe  is  pretty :  the  girl,  I  mean,  not 
the  aunt." 

"  She  is  here  at  the  gate,"  says  Stephen,  shortly  : 
and  it  is  now  that  Urquhart  sees  the  two  men  com- 
ing, and  stops  Milicent. 

Pie  need  not  have  done  so.  He  could  have  gone 
forward  alone,  to  meet  Mr.  Raymond  ;  and  Mill- 
cent's  late  arrival  would  have  been  excuse  enough 
to  postpone  the  introduction  for  a  more  convenient 
season.  But  Urcpdiart  is  too  proud  to  make  a 
sign  as  if  he  feared  to  introduce  his  friend  to  Mill- 
cent.  lie  takes  both  the  visit  and  the  hour  with 
perfect  coolness;  though  how  he  wishes  Milicent 
could  ai)i)ear  in  the  dove-colored  dress  and  cherry 
ribbons  she  wore  one  evening,  to  his  great  satisfac- 
tion !  Yet  fortunately  she  has  the  merit  of  being 
beautiful  in  any  guise;  and  it  is  as  well  they 
should  meet  here,  out-of-doors,  rather  than  in  that 
barn  of  a  parlor. 

But  there  is  not  the  smallest  use  in  Urquhart's 
hinting,  when  Milicent  invites  her  visitors  in,  that 
it  is  pleasanter  out-of-doors,  and  that  the  sea-view 
is  perfect.  Milicent  will  not  understand  him.  It 
is  not  hospitality,  to  keep  this  friend  of  Urquhart's 
outside  the  house-door.  She  is  not  ashamed  of 
her  poverty,  and  she  will  not  let  her  lover  be. 

There  is  one  step  too  far  in  every  course  in  life ; 
and  Milicent,  instead  of  pausing  to  see  her  way, 
has  recklessly  gone  forward. 

When  she  opened  the  door  and  invited  Mr.  Ray- 
mond to  enter,  she  expected  to  find  the  parlor 
empty.     Instead,  there  is  a  bright  fire  of   drift- 


I 


222 


PILOT  FORT  UN K. 


wood  on  the  hearth,  before  which  Miss  Ursula  ia 
sitting  with  her  work;  near  her,  Thomas,  h)iing. 
ing  in  a  great  rocking-chair,  reading  a  newspaper, 
and  smoking  a  cigar. 

It  is  such  a  novel  sight  in  the  parlor,  that  no 
wonder  Milicent  pauses  on  the  threshold  for  a  mo- 
ment,  before  she  recovers  from  her  astonishment, 
and  makes  way  for  the  visitors  to  follow  lier  into 
the  room. 

Of  the  four  who  enter,  IJrquhart  is  the  most  an- 
noyed. How  could  he  ever  hojie  to  explain  to  Mr. 
Raymond  the  primitive  mode  of  life  in  this  out-of- 
the-way  fishing-village,  where  Milicent's  aunt  is  on 
such  terms  with  her  hired  fisherman  that  she  not 
only  permits  him  to  share  the  parlor  with  her,  but 
to  fill  it  with  tobacco  smoke,  —  tobacco  smoke  from 
a  cigar,  forsooth,  of  unexceptionable  aroma  I  In- 
congruous situations  are  always  the  most  difficult 
to  explain. 

After  the  first  shock  of  surprise,  Milicent  is  not 
in  the  least  disconcerted.  "Aunt  Ursula,"  she 
says,  in  her  clear  voice,  "Mr.  Urquhart  has 
brought  a  friend  to  see  us." 

Miss  Ursula  is  painfully  embarrassed.  She  has 
scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  work,  after  the 
one  glance  she  gave  when  they  came  into  the 
room  ;  and  instead  of  receiving  her  guests,  she 
makes  a  hasty  apology  or  explanation  to  Milicent : 
something  about  the  chimney  in  the  kitchen  smok- 
ing, and  forcing  her  to  make  a  fire  in  the  parlor. 

"So  much  the  better,"  the  girl  says  coolly. 
This  room  is  usually  damp  and  uncomfortable." 


(4 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


228 


No  one  but  Stephon  notices  Miss  Ursula's  per- 
turbation ;  for  both  Mr.  Kayniond  antl  Unpiliart 
are  looking  at  Thomas,  wlio  rose  to  his  feet  when 
they  entered,  and  is  now  slowly  folding  his  paper, 
as  if  preparatory  to  leaving  the  room. 

Urquhart  has  never  seen  Miss  Ursula's  fisher- 
man without  his  hat ;  and,  between  its  slouched 
brim  and  his  heavy  beard,  there  was  scarcely  any- 
thing of  his  features  to  be  seen.  That  Thomas  is 
a  remarkably  handsome  man  no  one  could  deny ; 
but  it  is  not  that  which  strikes  Urquhart,  so  much 
as  something  very  familiar  in  the  fellow's  face, 
which  not  only  puzzles,  but  for  some  reason  irri- 
tates him. 

Mr.  Raymond  also  is  looking  at  the  fisherman, 
with  a  perplexed  expression  of  countenance :  which 
quite  suddenly  lightens  into  one  of  recognition, 
and  he  starts  forward,  exclaiming,  as  he  lays  his 
hand  familiarly  on  Thomas's  shoulder  :  — 

"  Is  it  really  you,  Chaudron  ?  You  are  the  last 
person  in  the  world  I  expected  to  see  here." 

"  Is  it  not  far  enough  out  of  the  way?  I  might 
naturally  be  more  surprised  at  seeing  you  in  such 
an  outlandish  place  as  this,"  responds  Thomas,  with 
a  short  laugh. 

"  The  impression  is  that  you  are  abroad." 

"  So  I  was  for  a  time.  But  I  was  not  born  un- 
der a  lucky  star.  No  doubt  the  impression  also  is 
that  I  am  living  like  a  prince  ;  and  lo,  you  find  me 
a  fisherman." 

"  One  in  disgiuse,"  says  Mr.  Raymond,  smiling 
significantly. 


224 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  Not  at  all,  but  one  actually.  There  is  nothing 
to  eat  here  but  fish  and  potatoes ;  so  I  catch  c  od 
and  herring  to  keej)  my  family  from  starving." 

"You  are  not  alone,  then?"  asks  Mr.  Eaymond, 
with  evident  curiosity. 

Until  this  instant,  some  spell  of  lang  syne  has 
held  his  attention  riveted  on  Thomas.  There  has 
been  no  slightest  movement  to  distract  it  to  the  girl 
standing  ajmrt  in  the  window;  nor  to  the  spare, 
elderly  figure  of  the  woman  bent  closely  over  the 
work  in  her  lap,  —  so  closely,  that  none  could  see 
the  gray  and  rigid  face,  into  which  for  one  instant 
a  startled  look  came,  as  of  one  suddenly  confronted 
with  the  ghost  of  a  dead  past. 

Now,  as  Mr.  Raymond  speaks,  he  half  turns. 
But  Thomas  is  answering  him  :  — 

"  I  am  not  alone.  Of  course  you  know  my  wife 
is  dead.  You  may  also  remember  I  had  a  daugh- 
ter.    It  is  she  who  brought  you  here." 

"  That  is  false !  "  exclaims  Urquhart,  angrily. 
An  intolerable  annoyance  seizes  him  at  the  mere 
idea  that  this  rough-looking  fisherman  claims  Mili- 
cent  as  his  daughter.  Urquhart  has  been  watch- 
ing with  some  interest  Mr.  Raymond's  recognition 
of  him ;  but  never  for  a  moment  connecting  him 
in  any  way  with  Milicent. 

"  I  beg  pardon  for  contradicting  Mr.  Urquhart," 
says  Thomas,  with  mocking  politeness;  "but 
though  a  gentleman  has  occasionally  been  known 
to  cheat,  he  is  never  known  to  lie.  Perhaps  if 
Milicent  vouches  for  our  relationship  he  will  ac- 
knowledge tiiat  at  least  his  assertion  is  a  hasty 
one." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


225 


All  four  men  turn  to  look  at  Milicent.  She  is 
standing  at  the  window,  her  back  to  them,  her 
brow  pressed  against  the  glass.  Though  they  can- 
not see  her  face,  her  hands,  which  are  clasped  to- 
gether in  a  strained,  passionate  way,  give  a  strong 
hint  of  the  mighty  effort  she  is  making  to  gain 
control  over  herself. 

Stephen  quietly  moves  near  her,  —  near  enough 
to  touch  her ;  but  he  does  not,  nor  does  he  speak  to 
her.  ITrquhart  also  makes  a  motion  to  go  to  her ; 
but  checks  himself.  He  cannot  bring  himself  to 
question  her  before  so  many  witnesses ;  therefore 
he  draws  a  little  farther  from  her,  and  is  silent. 

"There  has  been  a  mistake  somewhere,"  says 
Thomas,  very  quietly.  "  Or  perhaps  a  complica- 
tion would  be  a  better  rendering  of  our  position. 
Milicent  no  doubt  thought  that  her  being  the 
daughter  of  a  fisherman  would  perhaps  shock  you ; 
and  that  marrying  her  as  such  would  have  some 
effect  upon  your  social  standing.  Of  course  that 
was  her  ignorance.  Thomas  the  fisherman's  daugh- 
ter, perhaps  only  Mr.  Raymond  would  have  ob- 
jected to,  as  your  wife.  But  Mr.  Chaudron's 
daughter  holds  a  slightly  different  position." 

"I  never  have  heard  the  name,  except  as  be- 
longing to  a  banker  who  was  both  a  forger  and  a 
swindler,"  says  Urquhart  slowly,  looking  at  Mr. 
Chaudron  as  he  speaks. 

"  So  the  newspapers  said.    They  took  great  pleas- 
ure in  the  small  spite  of  calling  me  names.      How- 
ever, this  last  swindle,  which  you  are  so  fortunate, 
through  the  good  offices  of  our  friend  Mr.  Rav- 
16  ^ 


226 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


mond,  to  discover,  I  must  protest  I  had  nothing 
to  do  with.  I  warned  Milicent  that  her  engage- 
ment was  a  rash  and  foolish  one,  and  would'  end 
disastrously.  But,"  he  adds  with  a  shrug,  "  it  is 
in  vain  to  argue  with  a  girl  in  love.  As  to  with- 
holding my  name,  —  even  you  who  blame  me  for 
a  too  free  use  of  it  must  see  that,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, this  was  only  common  iDrudence  on 
my  part." 

Mr.  Chaudron  is  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  his  newspaper  and  long-extinguished  cigar  in 
one  hand.  His  attitude  is  that  of  one  who  expects 
the  interview  to  be  a  short  one,  though  he  in  no 
way  hurries  his  guests. 

"  If  you  had  advised  your  daughter  to  tell  me 
her  parentage,  you  might  have  been  sure  I  would 
have  respected  your  incognito.  A  little  honesty  on 
your  part  would  have  done  you  no  harm  "  —  be- 
gins Urquhart. 

"I  am  sure  you  are  very  good  to  say  so,"  in- 
terrupts Mr.  Chaudron,  with  irritating  suavity. 
"  But  one  may  be  a  little  particular  about  the  use 
of  one's  name.  My  advice  to  my  daughter  was 
exactly  the  contrary  to  your  wishes." 

What  answer  Urquhart  might  have  made  it  is 
not  difficult  to  guess.  Yet  it  is  not  Milicent's  be- 
seeching eyes  (for  she  turns  her  face  round  when 
her  father  begins  to  speak)  that  silences  hun ; 
neither  is  it  Mr.  Raymond,  who  has  tried  more 
than  once  to  gain  a  hearing,  but  Miss  Ursula. 

She  has  risen  from  her  obscure  corner  in  the 
wide  hearth,  and  now  comes   forward,     "Gentle- 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


227 


men,"  she  says,  coldly  and  haughtily,  "you  must 
pardon  my  breach  of  hospitality,  if  I  ask  you  to 
leave  us  to  ourselves.  We  have  long  been  unused 
to  visitors,  and  would  be  alone." 

The  effect  of  Miss  Ursula's  words  would  have 
been  exceedingly  chilling  and  embarrassing,  if  Mr. 
Raymond  had  not  turned  towards  her  when  she 
began  to  speak.  "  Are  you  here  too,  Ursula !  "  he 
exclaims. 

"  Where  else  should  I  be  ?  "  she  asks,  haughtily. 

She  stands  with  the  western  light  from  the  un- 
curtained window  slanting  in  upon  her,  broken 
only  by  the  shadow  of  the  girl,  who,  at  the  sound 
of  her  aunt's  voice,  turns  aside  again  to  resume  her 
former  isolated  posture.  That  roseate  glow  tries 
to  soften  the  hard  and  toilworn  hands  folded  to- 
gether before  Miss  Ursula;  the  straight  folds  of 
the  black  dress ;  the  angular  lines  of  the  forbid- 
ding figure :  and  fails  so  utterly,  that  it  does  not 
attempt  to  reach  up  to  the  gray  face,  so  still  anr' 
set  that  it  might  be  a  mask. 

Mr.  Raymond,  out  of  his  comfortable  ease,  draws 
a  hurried  breath. 

"  I  never  dreamed  of  Chaudron's  being  here,  of 
all  places  in  the  world,"  he  begins,  in  haste  to  ex- 
culpate  himself. 

"  The  bow  was  drawn  at  a  venture,"  answers 
Miss  Ursula,  bitterly.  "  It  was  intended  only  to 
wound  a  girl ;  but  no  doubt  it  was  guided  to  its 
destiny.     I  never  did  believe  in  blind  chance." 

"  I  came  here,  I  confess,  to  try  to  free  my  ward 
beared  would  be  a  foolish  marriage ; 


*».«_    — l-_x    T    P 
i-iUlll    VVilclli     ■    ^ 


228 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


but  I  had  not  the  slightest  idea  who  the  young 
lady  really  is.  I  ought  not  to  have  called  your 
brother  by  his  name  ;  it  was  a  mistake  my  surprise 
caused  me  to  make.  I  meant  my  malice, — Ursula, 
you  surely  believe  me,"  he  breaks  out  suddenly. 

"Is  not  Mr.  Raymond's  word  always  to  be 
trusted  ?  "  replies  Miss  Ursula,  in  so  quiet  a  tone 
that  it  is  difficult  to  detect  even  the  shadow  of  a 
sarcasm. 

Yet  Mr.  Raymond  flushes  like  a  school-boy,  and 
says  in  an  aggrieved  voice  :  — 

"You  are  always  keen  in  your  thrusts,  and 
never  inclined  to  mercy.  But  now,  even  against 
your  will,  you  will  have  to  trust  me  as  a  friend." 

"Having  lost  all  I  once  deemed  friends,  I  re- 
gard every  one  now  as  an  enemy,"  answers  Miss 
Ursula,  coldly. 

"  That  is  a  harsh  creed,"  begins  Mr.  Raymond  ; 
but  Miss  Ursula  interrupts  him  :  — 

"We  are  detaining  Mr.  Urquhart.  He  can 
hardly  be  interested  in  our  meeting." 

Urquhart  is  feeling  his  position  awkward.  He 
could  not  talk  with  Milicent,  having  so  many  wit- 
nesses ;  and  he  is  too  angry  just  now  to  trust  him- 
self to  speak  to  her  alone,  even  if  she  would  agree 
to  a  private  interview.  Her  manner  does  not  tend 
to  pour  oil  on  the  troubled  waters  of  his  temper ; 
for  she  has  again  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and 
seems  absorbed  in  looking  out  of  the  window.  He 
would  give  much,  wrathful  as  he  is,  to  see  if  there 
is  pain,  or  only  anger,  in  her  face  ;  but  she  is  far 
too  uncertain  for   him  to  use  anv  rash  means  to 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


229 


make  the  discovery,  even  if  his  hurt  pride  would 
have  permitted  him  to  do  so. 

XJrquhart's  irritation  is  increased  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Mr.  Chaudron,  who  has  made  himself  such 
an  immense  barrier  between  him  and  Milicent. 
Thomas  the  fisherman  could  have  been  quietly 
kept  in  the  background,  and  need  never  have  been 
heard  of ;  but  Mr.  Chaudron  is  far  too  notorious 
to  be  hidden  in  a  corner. 

Miss  Ursula's  words  have  recalled  Mr.  Raymond 
to  the  fact  that  there  are  others  in  the  room,  and 
that  XJrquhart's  position  is  unpleasantly  awkward. 
"We  had  better  go.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  at  present,"  he  suggests  to  Urquhart,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  if  the  proposal  were  his  own,  not  Miss 
Ursula's. 

Not  waiting  for  Urquhart's  answer,  he  shakes 
hands  with  Mr.  Chaudron,  and  would,  if  he  had 
dared,  have  offered  the  same  civility  to  Miss 
Ursula.  But  instead,  he  bows  to  her,  and  to  Mill- 
cent,  —  a  bit  of  courtesy  the  girl  never  sees,  for  her 
back  is  still  towards  them. 

Urquhart  leaves  the  room  with  Mr.  Raymond, 
not  noticing  any  one.  He  is  too  sore  and  wrath- 
ful to  care  for,  or  even  think  of,  an  ordinary  act 
of  politeness.  Mr.  Chaudron  merely  shrugs  his 
shoulders  at  Urquhart's  evident  want  of  presence 
of  mind ;  then  signs  to  Miss  Ursula,  and  the  two 
leave  the  room  together. 

Still  Milicent  keeps  her  station  by  the  window. 
She  must  have  forgotten  Stephen;  for  she  starts 
violently  when  he  comes  closer  to  her,  and  speaks. 


230 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Urquhart  is  taken  by  surprise,  Milly.  It  wiU 
not  be  long  before  he  comes  back  to  tell  you  so  " 
says  Stephen,  very  gently.  ' 

"Are  you  sure  he  will  ?  "  asks  Milicent,  turning 
on  hmi  two  despairing  eyes. 

"Yes,  I  am  very  sure.  It  is  not  altogether  un- 
natura  that  Urquh  '  mid  feel  hurt  Ld  angr^ 
a  first,  especially  as  u  turned  your  back  upon 
h  n,  and  would  say  nothing  in  your  defense.  But 
after  a  while,  when  his  anger  dies  out,  he  wiU  be 

•7 

"What  could  I  say  in  my  defense?"  interrupts 
Mihcent,  hopelessly.  "It  is  perfectly  true  I  de- 
ceived h,m.  I  have  known  for  months  now,  that 
—  that  I  have  a  father." 

"It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had  told 
Urqulmt;  but  of  course  it  was  a  difficult  thin.. 

Ziy.      ^^        *"  ''"'"  ''■^'  ^'^P''^"'  ^Wathetf- 

"I  was  not  silent  on  my  father's  account.  He 
would  have  let  me  speak  to  Mr.  Urquhart.  He 
would  never  permit  me  to  confess  everything  to 
yo«.-  hough  he  waated  me  to  marry  y„„,  and  I 
told^hjm  I  never  would,  unless  you  knew  every- 

"Then  it  was  not  because  you  loved  Urquhart, 
that  you  refused  me,  Milly?"  asks  Stephen,  cal 

S^A    ]  ^'^  rf  T"  ^'"'  •>'"  *«°-     I  ^''"ted  to 

not  thmk  It  made  much  difference  to  him  whether 
he  knew  or  not,  as  we  would  go  awav.  n«v.,  t. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


231 


'  I 


come  back  again.  But  my  father  did  not  keep  me 
silent.  Indeed,  once  he  advised  me  to  tell  Mr. 
Urqiihart  everything  ;  but  that  was  because  he  be- 
lieved he  would  go  away,  and  —  and  not  take  me 
with  him.  I  was  afraid  of  other  things ;  I  was  not 
afraid  of  that :  at  least,  not  until  that  glimj^se  I 
had  of  his  world,  of  city  ways.  And  then  he  said 
something  that  made  me  think  I  need  not  fear. 
Yesterday,  is  it  only  yesterday?"  she  cries  out 
suddenly,  wringing  her  hands  together,  and  turn- 
ing  upon  Stephen,  her  eyes  widening  with  a  look 
of  terror  of  the  long,  long  coming  days  and  days. 

Stephen's  eyes  could  keep  back  his  own  pain. 

"Milly,  Urquhart  will  get  over  it.  You  must 
not  be  surprised  that  he  was  hurt  by  your  not 
trusting  him  with  your  secret.  All  want  of  trust 
in  those  we  care  for  is  a  slight  put  upon  us.  But 
Urquhart  will  get  over  it." 

"Are  you  sure?"  breaks  in  Milicent,  willing  to 
catch  at  any  hope.  "  May  he  not  go  away  without 
seeing  me  again  ?  " 

"No,  no,  MiUy,  you  must  not  think  so  hardly  of 
Urquhart.  He  loves  you  far  too  much  to  give  you 
up  so  easily.  He  may  blame  you  a  little,  and  ff 
he  does,  do  not  turn  your  back  upon  him  as  you 
did  just  now.  You  looked  as  if  you  did  not  care 
whether  he  were  hurt  or  not,  —  the"  action,  I  mean ; 
for  no  doubt  your  eyes  spoke  differently,  —  they 
often  do,  I  find.  Only  let  Urquhart  see  that  you 
do  care  a  little,  and  I  am  very  sure  all  will  be 
well." 

ait,w  i^T.,«*vL  JL  cpccviv,   Willi  tiiac  strange  man 


232 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


there,  and  —  and  every  one  looking  at  me  ?  If  he 
wanted  to  speak  to  me,  he  should  have  seen  me 
alone,  or  at  least  have  sent  away  his  friend,"  says 
MUicent,  losmg  her  unwonted  humility. 

ii"  ^l^.7'^\  "^''*  *^"'^'"  promises  Stephen.  «  And 
aW  will  be  right,  Milly.  You  may  be  sure  it  will. 
What  your  father  did  cannot  have  any  influence 
upon  his  love  for  you,"  argues  foolish  Stephen. 


\\m 


XII. 

"  I  say,  as  I  fynde, 

—  Love  is  but  a  blast, 
And  torneth  with  the  wynde." 

Mr.  Raymond  and  Urquhart  were  both  inclined 
to  be  silent  while  walking  away  from  the  old  house 
on  the  hill.  Each  had  received  a  heavy  blow, 
though  of  a  very  different  nature.  With  Mr.  Rav- 
moncl,  it  had  sent  him  reeling  back  into  the  past : 
while  with  Urquhart,  it  had  as  certamly  thrown 
him  off  from  it. 

For  the  one.  Memory,  with  no  great  tax  upon 
her,  was  fast  shaping  the  past  once  more,  —  a  kalei- 
doscope, with  every  bit  and  fragment  taking  defi- 
nite shape :  a  shape  he  could  not  help  seeing  was 
distorted  and  unnatural.  While  Urquhart  could 
find  nothing  to  piece  out  even  an  action  on  his 
part,  now  that  the  present  was  so  changed  that 
the  past  was  useless. 

If  Milicent  had  hidden  from  him  only  that  she 
was  Thomas  the  fisherman's  daughter,  Urquhart 
felt  he  could  easily  have  forgiven  her.  He  had 
so  long  intended  to  exile  himself,  at  least  for  a 
time,  on  her  account,  that  her  humble  parentage 
would  not  have  changed  a  plan.  Of  course  he 
would  have  preferred  that  she  had  been  frank  with 
him  ;  and  yet,  if  she  had  been  silent  only  through 


234 


PILOT  FORT  (IN  i:. 


fear  of  losing  liim,  the  flattery  would  have  been 
sweet  enough.  She  liml  been  coy  and  uncertain 
duriv^  his  whole  wooin^r ;  and  any  evidence  of  a 
desire  to  liold  him  was  i)leas[int.  Besides,  she  was 
too  artless  and  unaffected  for  one  act  of  decei)tion 
to  change  her  nature ;  and  he  would  not  have  dis- 
trusted her  always,  because  once  she  had,  through 
love  of  him,  deceived  him. 

But  with  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter,  it  is  quite 
diiierent. 

The  whole  country  had  rung  with  tlie  great  bank- 
er  s  default  and  forgery  ;  and  though  it  had  hap- 
pened more  than  a  dozen  years  before,  yet  his 
standing  had  been  so  high,  and  his  fall  so  very  low, 
that  his  name  was  still  a  slang  term  for  an  act  of 
deep  dishonesty.  To  connect  himself  with  this 
man,  even  by  the  slender  tie  of  son-in-law,  would 
require  an  amount  of  moral  courage,  as  well  as  the 
sacrifice  of  a  large  degree  of  family  pride,  which 
Mihcent  would  not  be  at  all  likely  to  understand, 
much  less  appreciate. 

Mr.  Raymond's  thoughts,  being  less  involved  by 
his  feelings  than  are  Urquhart's,  are  the  first  to 
shape  themselves  in  words. 

"  Great  heavens !  Who  would  have  expected  to 
find  Chaudron,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  in  such  a 
place  as  this,  and  actually  turned  fisherman  as  a 
means  of  living!  He  must  have  lost  immensely 
abroad.  I  cannot  see  why  he  did  not  take  to  some- 
thing there,  rather  than  run  sucn  a  huge  risk  byre- 
turning." 

"  We  are  in  Her  Majesty's  dominions,"  suggests 
iJrquhart. 


PILC      FORTUNE. 


285 


"  Unf'>rtunately  for  him,  there  is  such  a  thincj  as 
the  extradition  treaty,  and  forgery  conies  under 
it." 

Urciuliart  winces,  but  says  nothing. 

"  And  that  I  shoukl  have  found  Ursula  here," 
Mr.  Kayniond  j^oes  on  to  say.  "  Slie  has  grown 
into  an  okl  wonutu  ;  but  not  one  I  would  care  to 
offer  a  bribe  to,  in  order  to  break  off  your  unfortu- 
nate entanglement  with  her  niece ;  as  was  my  in- 
tention when  I  came  here.  I  fancy  you  were  too 
small  a  boy  to  remember  how  the  town  rang  with 
her  folly,  —  or  heroism,  as  peojjle  chanced  to  call 
it,  —  when  she  gave  up  her  handsome  property  to 
be  made  ducks  and  drakes  of,  in  paying  off  her 
brother's  —  indebtedness,  as  she  may  have  chosen 
to  call  it.  She  must  regret  it.  She  could  not 
possibly  help  doing  so,"  adds  Mr.  Raymond,  with 
much  asperity. 

"  Did  she  decamp  with  her  brother  ?  " 

"  No,  she  must  have  joined  him  abroad.  At 
least  she  disappeared,  no  one  knew  where,  until  I 
find  her  here.  Chaudron's  wife  had  not  half  of 
Ursula's  pluck.  Certainly  she  did  not  follow  her 
husband;  and  I  never  heard  that  he  made  the 
slightest  effort  to  persuade  her  to  do  so.  Of  course 
she  disappeared  from  society ;  and  I  heard  she  was 
very  poor.  But  she  did  not  live  very  long ;  and 
the  child  disappeared.  It  was  an  awkward  bit  of 
business  for  the  whole  of  them.V 

"  It  could  scarcely  have  been  expected  to  turn 
out  well,"  remarks  Urquhart,  sarcastically. 

"  I  know  some  equally  objectionable  people  who 


236 


I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


are  at  thiH  prt'scnt  moniont  Hoiiiishing  like  ^rreeu 
bay-trees,"  rejaies  Mr.  Kayinoiul,  dryly.  *'  I  nover 
could  have  any  doubts  as  to  the  doctrine  of  future 
rewards  and  punishniciuta.  It  is  the  only  way  of 
aecounting  for  the  seeming  caprices  of  fate.  Well, 
life  is  odd,  very  odd  !  I  venture  to  bet  a  cool  thou- 
sand, that  if  I  asked  any  of  Chaudron's  friends,  — 
or  quondam  friends,  —  when  I  go  back  to  town, 
whom  I  met  here,  in  this  little  fishino-village,  not 
one  of  them  would  think  of  guessing  Chaudron." 

When  Mr.  Kaymond  begins  to  si)eak  of  his  own 
theories  and  experiences,  Urquhart's  attention  flags. 
It  seems  to  him  Milicent  is  again  walking  by  his 
side,  oyer  the  road  where  they  had  first  walked  to- 
gether. It  is  as  if  he  heard  her  voice  i)leading 
that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  her  father's  sin. 
That,  like  her  mother,  she  loathed  it :  though,  un- 
like her,  she  could  not  leave  him,  or  die. 

The  few  times  Urquhart  has  ever  seen  Milicent 
with  her  father,  he  remembers  she  appeared  either 
angry  or  frightened.  Once  only  —  to-day  on  their 
return  from  St.  John,  when  Thomas  kissed  her  — 
had  Urquhart  thought  she  had  submitted  to  an  un- 
necessary familiarity.  Now  he  recalls  that  she  had 
laughed  at  him  for  his  fastidiousness.  Why  did 
she  not  tell  him  then  that  Thomas  was  her  father? 
Was  it  only  a  false,  foolish  shame  ?  Or  was  it  a  de- 
liberate act  of  deceit?  Poor  Urquhart!  AU  his 
thoughts  and  memories  end  in  that  overwhelming 
doubt. 

"  She  is  wonderfully  like  him."     It  is  Mr.  Eay- 
mond's  voice  which  breaks  Urquhart's  reveries. 


PILOT  FOllTUNE. 


287 


») 


"She?  Who  is  she  like?"  asks  Urqiihart, 
sharply. 

"  Chautlron's  (laughter.  She  is  wonderfully  like 
her  fatlier." 

"What  nonsense!  Milicent's  eyes  are  brown, 
while  his  are  gray." 

"  It  is  their  expression,  not  their  color,  I  sup- 
pose. Tlie  girl  puzzled  nie  as  soon  as  I  saw  her, 
she  was  so  like  somebody.  It  was  the  improba- 
bility of  Chaudron's  being  here  that  misled  me. 
Yet  I  wager  if  I  showed  her  at  the  club,  and  said : 
'  Whose  daughter  is  she  ?  '  nine  out  of  ten  would 
reply  :  '  The  daughter  of  our  Prince  of  Swindlers, 
Chaudron.'  You  need  not  resent  my  speaking  of 
the  likeness ;  for  Chaudron  was  con  'dered  a  hand- 
some man,  by  men  as  well  as  women :  and  their 
tastes  do  not  always  agree,  I  assure  you,"  says  Mr. 
Raymond,  didactically. 

To  this  Urquhart  makes  no  answer.  lie  thinks 
his  old  friend  tiresome,  but  he  does  not  suspect  him 
of  probing  his  wound  for  the  purpose  of  proving  its 
painfulness. 

They  have  walked  a  little  way  in  silence  along 
the  quiet  road-street,  when  Mr.  Raymond  says, 
with  studied  abruptness :  "  Of  course  this  exposi- 
tion will  put  an  end  to  your  engagement  to  the 
young  lady." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  it  should,"  answers  Urquhart, 
coldly. 

"She  can  never  hide  her  parentage.  Chau- 
dron is  plainly  written  on  her  face ;  and  not  only 
that "  — 


238 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  never  intended  living  in  this  country,  so  that 
would  not  influence  me,"  interrupts  Urquhart. 

"  You  do  not  imagine  you  could  keep  your  wife 
hidden?  Such  things  will  creep  out:  as  witness 
to-day.  My  dear  fellow,  never  try  to  conceal  what 
is  personally  disagreeable.  It  is  always  best  to 
mention  such  things  yourself.  It  would  be  con- 
foundedly awkward  for  some  one  to  say :  '  What  a 
fine-looking  fellow  Chaudron  was ;  and  how  much 
your  wife  is  like  him.'  Such  a  remark  might  be 
made,  you  know.  And  it  is  difficult  to  be  always 
on  one's  guard." 

"  There  are  not  many  men  who  would  expect  to 
insult  ^ne  with  impunity,"  replies  Urquhart,  coolly. 
"  It  is  deplorable  when  truths  are  insults,"  says 
Mr.  Raymond.  "  And  then,  Urquhart,  such  a  fa- 
ther-in-law as  Chaudron  is  certain  to  prove  troub- 
lesome. He  must  be  very  low  down  in  the  world ; 
and  men  in  his  plight  are  not  easily  shaken  off.  I 
am  sure  the  young  lady  herself  did  not  expect  you 
to  keep  faith,  after  you  knew  of  her  father:  or  she 
would  not  liave  been  so  anxious  to  conceal  him 
from  you." 

"  I  doubt  very  much  whether  Milicent  knew  the 
whole  truth,"  answers  Urquhart.  "She  was  a 
mere  baby  when  the  occurrence  took  place ;  and 
no  one  would  be  so  cruel  as  to  tell  her  the  unvar- 
nished facts." 

"Yet  it  is  evident  she  was  holding  something 
back  from  you.  Rely  upon  it,  she  knew  every- 
thing, and  was  anxious  to  keep  you  in  ignorance. 
It  is  bad  blood,  dishonest  from  the  fountain-head. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


239 


I  am  a  firm  believer  in  blood;  and  Chaudron's 
daughter  could  not  possibly  be  worthy  of  trust," 
says  Mr.  Raymond,  emphatically. 

"  You  forget  Milicent  had  an  honest  mother  to 
inherit  from;  and  Miss  Ursula,  though  a  Chau- 
dron,  you  yourself  have  said  was  foolishly  nice  as 
to  honesty."  ^ 

"  My  poor  fellow  !  I  am  vastly  sorry  for  you," 
says  Mr.  Raymond,  ignoring  Urquhart's  last  re- 
marks, perhaps  discreetly.  "  She  is  pretty  enough 
to  turn  an  old  man's  head,  let  alone  a  young  one's. 
Yet,  as  your  father's  friend,  you  must  promise  me 
not  to  see  that  unlucky  girl  again." 

*'I  cannot  promise  that,"  replies  Urquhart, 
hastily.  "I  must  see  Milicent.  She  shall  have 
the  chance  to  clear  herself  of  all  the  dishonesty 
you  so  kindly  impute  to  her ;  and  to  prove  to  me 
she  krew  nothing  worse  of  her  father  than  that  he 
is  a  poor  fisherman." 

"  She  will  never  tell  you  that,  unless  she  tells 
you  a  falsehood.  It  is  a  very  bad  bit  of  business, 
very  bad,  indeed ;  and  the  only  thing  is  to  get  quit 
of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  I  acknowledge  it  is  not 
easy  work  ;  and  tugging  at  one's  heart-strings  does 
not  make  pleasant  music.  But  we  all  go  through 
it  some  time  in  our  lives ;  and  then  after  a  while 
we  congratulate  ourselves  that  we  had  the  courage 
to  make  the  break." 

"  What  may  be  a  matter  of  congratulation  to 
one  is  not  to  another,"  remarks  Urquhart,  tritely. 
"  Not  at  first,  I  admit ;  but  it  will  be  eventually. 
opca.n.  v.uai,  i.  ivnuw  j  lor  X  iiave  gone  tnrougn  tnis 


240 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


1^'  ' 


thing  myself,  and  can  recall  eveiy  wrench  I  suf- 
fered :  and,  thank  heaven,  I  conquered." 

Does  Urquliart  believe  him  ?  Is  it  not  the  cry 
of  every  heart,  —  if  there  be  any  sorrow  like  unto 
my  sorrow  ?  Can  it  be  jDossible  that  this  middle- 
aged,  successful  man,  suitably  married,  and  with 
'  children  grown  up  around  him,  understands  what 
a  wrench  from  happiness  he,  as  his  father's  friend, 
and  brimful  of  worldly  wisdom,  is  requiring  of  Ur- 
quliart ? 

"  Let  me  explain  myself,"  says  Mr.  Kaymond. 
"It  is  not  always  pleasant  to  go  back  into  the 
past ;  but  experience  may  prove  profitable.  Now 
see  if  our  cases  are  not  similar.  I  was  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Ursula  Chaudron,  and  very  much  in 
love  with  her  too,  I  can  tell  you :  when  her  brother, 
who  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  upright, 
honorable  men  in  New  York,  was  discovered  to  be 
a  miserable  villain.  You  cannot  imagine  the  ex- 
citement his  forgery  made  (for  in  those  days  they 
were  uncommon  occurrences),  nor  how  many  peo- 
ple were  ruined  by  him.  My  engagement  with 
Ursula  was  not  announced,  but  I  was  willing  to 
abide  by  it  on  two  conditions,  both  of  which  she 
scorned.  One  was,  that  she  should  give  up  en- 
tirely her  worthless  brother,  and  hold  no  inter- 
course with  him :  the  other,  that  she  should  not 
carry  out  her  insane  intention,  which  she  had  de- 
clared as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his  villainy,  of  giv- 
ing up  her  own  fortune  to  his  creditors.  There 
were  some  stormy  scenes ;  Ursula  was  obdurate, 
so  they  ended  in  a  complete  rupture  between  us. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


241 


We  have  never  met  since,  until  to-day.  She  did 
not  choose  the  firm,  smooth  road  for  herself ;  and 
I  am  shocked  to  see  how  much  she  shows  the 
struggle.  To  think  of  her  being  an  old-looking 
woman,  so  changed  I  did  not  know  her,  though  I 
was  in  the  room  with  her,  until  she  spoke  !  " 

Are  Mr.  Raymond's  love  reminiscences  comfort- 
ing to  Urquhart?  Is  it  possible  for  him  to  be 
consoled  by  the  thought  that  a  dozen  years  hence 
Milicent  will  be  a  prematurely  old  woman,  show- 
ing signs  of  a  hard,  brave  struggle  he  had  stood 
aloof  from  ?  Would  it  give  him  any  comfort  to 
know  that  if  life  had  gone  hard  with  her  it  had 
been  proportionately  easy  with  him  ?  Verily,  some 
people  are  over-easily  made  happy.  If  they  escape 
unscathed,  is  not  everything  well  ? 

"Urquhart,"  says  Mr.  Raymond,  finding  his 
retrospection,  tragic  as  he  thought  it,  has  brought 
out  no  response,  "you  can  understand  now  why 
I  ask  you  not  to  see  Chaudron's  daughter  again. 
An  interview  will  not  do  the  slightest  good,  and 
will  be  painful  to  both.  Let  me  entreat  you  to 
forego  it." 

"  No,"  says  Urquhart,  with  decision.  "  I  am 
determined  to  see  Milicent.  Notwithstanding  there 
is  much  that  seems  against  her,  I  am  convinced  she 
can  explain  most  of  it."  And  then,  observing  that 
Mr.  Raymond's  shoulders  lift  themselves  in  a  shrug 
of  good-natured  forbearance,  he  adds,  irritably :  "  I 
owe  it  to  both  Milicent  and  myself,  to  see  her.  I 
do  not  care  to  be  haunted  all  my  days  by  the 
thought  that  I  have  made  a  premature  old  woman 

16 


242 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


of  her,  because  i  Lad  not  the  nerve  to  face  what 
you  are  pleased  to  call  a  scene." 

"  As  you  will,  my  poor  young  friend,"  says  Mr. 
Eaymond,  with  undisguised  pity  for  his  weakness. 
"  See  your  beautiful  siren,  if  you  will,  and  learn 
her  frailty.  But  do  not  for  a  moment  give  me  the 
credit  of  Ursula's  mutations.  Chaudron  can  very 
well  bear  the  responsibility  of  both  his  sister's  and 
his  daughter's." 


XIII. 


"  A  gray  sky  and  a  gray  sea, 

And  two  who  stood  together 
With  hands  close-clasped,  as  hands  are  grasped 

That  are  parting,  parting  forever. 
Two  whose  pale  lips  quivered  to  say 
The  words  the  world  hears  every  day  — 
As,  for  all  we  struggle  and  weep  and  pray. 
Young  hearts  must  break  in  life's  fever-play, 

And  links  are  light  to  sever." 

Until  that  night  closed  in  hopelessly,  Urquhart 
walked  on  the  brow  of  the  cliffs,  carefully  keeping 
himself  in  view  of  Milicent's  windows.  If  he  ex- 
pected that  the  mere  sight  of  him  would  bring  the 
girl  to  him,  he  was  disappointed ;  and  certainly  he 
was  chagrined,  when,  after  pacing  back  and  forth 
until  he  was  tired,  he  returned  to  his  lodgings,  and 
had  to  explain  to  Mr.  Raymond  that  he  had  not 
had  the  interview  he  desired.  Milicent's  supposed 
avoidance  of  him  had  the  unfortunate  effect  of 
confirming  any  doubt  he  may  have  had  of  her; 
and  Mr.  Raymond  judiciously  let  fall  a  word  or 
two  now  and  then,  to  add  to  rather  than  diminish 
them. 

Next  day  Urquhart  wrote  to  Milicent,  asking 
her  to  meet  him  on  the  cliffs,  —  only  a  few  words 
of  cold  request,  which  he  sent  to  Miss  Ursula's 
house  by  a  boy  from  the  village. 

inis  was  nail  an  xiour  ago  i  and  now  Miucent 


(if 


244 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


is  coming  slowly  down  the  path  which  Urquhait's 
feet  have  helped  to  wear  in  the  grassy  slope  from 
the  gate  to  the  cliffs.  He  does  not  go  to  meet  her 
now,  as  usual ;  but  stands  waiting,  and  watching 
her  slow  approach. 

It  is  this  waiting  that  chills  Milicent.  She  was 
glowing  to  the  very  finger-tips  that  let  the  gate 
swing  out  of  their  trembling  hold  —  glowing  with 
hope,  glowing  with  shame.  For  she  is  deeply 
ashamed  of  her  deception,  because  of  its  cow- 
ardice. That  it  would  have  sacrificed  Urquhart, 
she  never  guesses.  Whether  she  were  Mr.  Chau- 
dron's  daughter,  or  Thomas  the  fisherman's,  or 
only  MiBs  Ursula's  niece,  it  could  make  no  differ- 
ence, since  they  love  each  other.  All  her  fears 
have  arisen  from  her  dread  of  her  father's  inter- 
ference. During  Mr.  Raymond's  unfortunate  visit 
Milicent  had  felt  bitterly  ashamed  that  Urquhart 
should  have  made  the  discovery  in  the  way  he  did. 
The  whole  scene  was  terrible  to  her ;  and  that  Ur- 
quhart should  be  hurt  and  angry  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  But  Stephen  had 
given  her  comfort ;  Stephen  who  believed  in  the 
love  which  "  endureth  all  things "  and  is  kind. 
Stephen  had  told  her  to  be  meek  and  gentle,  and 
all  would  be  well  with  her.  And  she  had  intended 
to  be  both :  only,  while  she  walks  down  the  path 
and  sees  Urquhart  stand  quite  unmoved,  waiting 
for  her,  she  turns  cold  and  still ;  for  she  thinks : 
"  If  he  loved  me,  he  would  come  at  least  half  way 
to  meet  me.  He  is  a  judge  who  will  vouchsafe 
me  his  forgiveness." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


245 


"  You  will  pardon  me  for  giving  you  the  trouble 
of  coming  to  me,"  Urquliart  says,  when  they  stand 
face  to  face.  "  It  iy  very  necessary  that  I  should 
speak  to  you  ;  and  yet  I  could  not  seek  you  at  the 
house." 

"  I  thought  you  would  send  for  me  if  you  wished 
to  speak  to  me,"  answers  Milicent,  her  stiff  for- 
mality being  a  copy  of  his  own. 

"  Is  it  King  Ahasuerus  and  the  golden  sceptre  ?" 
asks  Urquhart,  bitterly.  "  Are  you  waiting  for  per- 
mission to  speak  ?  Ah,  Milicent,  this  unwonted 
meekness  bodes  me  no  good." 

Milicent  does  not  answer  him,  does  not  even  look 
at  him,  as  they  turn  and  walk  slowly  down  to  the 
lower  level  of  the  rocks,  for  some  fishermen  are 
coming  towards  them. 

This  enforced  silence  is  unfortunate,  since  it 
gives  them  both  time  to  feel  the  bitterness  of  their 
position  towards  each  other. 

"  Milicent,"  asks  Urquhart,  as  soon  as  the  men 
are  out  of  hearing,  "  what  am  I  to  think  ?  That 
you  designedly  deceived  me  ?  " 

"  If  I  did,  am  I  without  excuse  ?  "  she  asks. 

"  That  I  am  unable  to  answer,  unless  you  tell 
me  what  you  wished  to  conceal.  Was  it  the  so- 
cial position  of  your  father  ?  I  mean  his  being  a 
fisherman  ?  " 

"  Would  you  have  considered  that  a  sufficient 
cause  for  our  separation  ?  "  asks  Milicent. 

"  Most  assuredly  not.  I  did  not  suppose  you 
were  of  much  better  birth  when  I  asked  you  to 
marry  me ;  though  I  confess  I  did  not  regret  to 


246 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


learn  from  Miss  Ursula  that  your  family  origi- 
nally was  a  good  one." 

"  A  good  one !  "  repeats  Milicent,  with  a  hard, 
short  laugh.  "Perhaps  you  prefer  Mr.  Chau- 
dron's  daughter  to  an  honest  fisherman's  ?  " 

"  It  seems  you  did  not  care  to  give  me  any  choice 
in  the  matter.  Both  you  and  Miss  Ursula  led  me 
to  believe  you  had  no  father." 

"  Neither  of  us  said  so,"  interrupts  Milicent. 

"  Not  in  so  many  words,  perhaps ;  but  neither  of 
you  gave  me  a  hint  that  there  was  such  a  personage 
in  your  family.  The  fact  would  have  been  of  in- 
terest to  me  under  ordinary  circumstances ;  under 
such  extraordinary  ones,  your  silence  was  unpar- 
donable." 

To  this  Milicent  makes  no  answer;  and  Ur- 
quhart  adds,  with  feigned  urbanity,  "  It  would  be 
of  much  interest  to  me  if  you  would  deign  to  tell 
me  how  far  it  was  your  intention  to  deceive  me." 

Milicent,  instead  of  answering,  suddenly  takes 
her  seat  on  a  detached  stone  lying  at  the  foot  of  an 
old  sea-ruin,  which,  just  beyond,  looks  sheer  down 
over  the  withdrawing  tide.  She  is  pale  enough  to 
plead  weariness  ;  or,  it  may  be,  she  does  not  care  to 
prolong  her  walk  so  far  as  to  be  at  a  distance  from 
home. 

Urquhart  does  not  take  a  seat,  but  stands  leaning 
against  the  rough  stone  wall  towering  over  against 
her.  He  has  no  doubt  chosen  the  position  for  the 
view  of  Milieent's  face. 

But  evidently  she  has  no  desire  to  meet  his  gaze. 
She  averts  her  head  as  much  as  possible ;  yet  a 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


247 


faint  pink 


ige,  which  slowly  mounts  to  her  tem- 
ples, proves  her  fully  conscious  of  his  scrutiny. 

"Milicent,  had  you  any  idea  who  your  father 
really  is?  "  asks  Urquhart  suddenly,  determined 
to  learn  the  whole  truth,  even  though  he  arrive  at 
it  painfully. 

"  I  knew  he  was  not  a  fisherman." 

"But  you  knew  nothing  more  than  that  bare 
fact  ?  Pardon  me  for  asking  questions  you  show 
reluctance  to  answer.  If  you  wish  it,  I  will  ask  no 
more.  But  I  warn  you,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  not  to  draw  my  own  inferences  from  your  si- 
lence." 

"  I  came  here  to  answer  any  question  you  might 
please  to  ask,"  replies  Milicent,  still  not  turning  to 
him.  "  You  need  draw  no  inferences.  I  knew  per- 
fectly well  who  my  father  is,  also  why  he  is  hid- 
ing here,  and  why  he  has  become  a  common  fisher- 
man. Shall  I  tell  you,"  she  continues,  in  a  slow, 
monotonous  voice,  as  if  fearful  that  if  she  raised  it 
a  tone  she  would  forget  her  task,  —  "  my  father 
forged  his  partner's  name,  and  besides  used  for  his 
own  purposes  money  intrusted  to  him,  thereby 
ruining  hundreds  of  persons  who  had  placed  un- 
bounded confidence  in  his  probity." 

"Great  heavens,  MiK  ant !  Who  could  have 
had  the  cruelty  to  tell  you  this  ?  You  were  far  too 
young  to  have  known  anything  of  it  at  the  time," 
exclaims  Urquhart,  shocked  at  her  speaking  truth 
undisguised  by  any  of  the  soft  epithets  used  for 
crimes  in  this  polite  age. 

"  Aunt  Ursula  told  me  ;  so  my  authority  is  un- 


248 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


questionable.  You  need  not  doubt  her,  though. 
It  was  far  more  i)rudent  for  lier  to  ^ive  me  plain, 
unvarnished  facts  than  only  partial  ones,  as  my 
conduct  through  life  was  to  be  governed  by  them." 
"Blame  her!  I  can  only  commend  her  pru- 
dence. Yet  yours  is  even  more  praiseworthy," 
says  Urquhart,  bitterly.  "  Miss  Ursula  could  trust 
you  for  an  emergency;  there  were  no  circum- 
stances, even  the  most  sacred,  that  could  tempt 
you  to  speak." 

Milicent  makes  no  answer.  Perhaps  she  is 
thinking  that,  now  that  she  has  spoken,  he  is  more 
shocked  than  sorry  for  her. 

"  Perhaps,"  says  Urquhart,  more  gently,  "  your 
father  would  not  permit  you  to  tell  me.  It  seemed 
an  immense  risk  on  his  part,  as  I  am  a  perfect 
stranger;  and  he  could  not  be  expected  to  trust 
me  as  you  might." 

"On  the  contrary,"  answers  Milicert  at  once, 
but  in  the  same  forced  monotone,  "  he  one  day  ad- 
vised me  to  tell  you.  He  said  you  were  a  gentle- 
man, and  would  not  under  the  circumstances  con- 
sider it  honorable  to  inform  on  him." 

"  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  amenable  to  advice," 
says  Urquhart,  with  irc^Ical  politeness.  "  If  I  had 
known  something  of  the  antecedents  of  your  fam- 
ily I  could  at  least  have  prevented  that  rather 
unpleasant  scene  yesterday,  when  Mr.  Raymond 
discovered  Mr.  .'haudron.  I  must  acknowledge, 
however,  it  is  remarkable  that  your  father  was  anx- 
ious I  should  know  a  secret  he  was  guarding  so 
jealously,"  adds  Urquhart,  not  without  suspicion. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


249 


my 

>> 


"  The  desire  that  you  should  break  with  me  aud 
leave  here  was  much  stronger  than  any  fear  of  the 
risk.  He  was  very  sure  you  would  not  care  to 
marry  me  if  you  knew  his  history,"  explains  Mil- 
icent.  She  has  lost  the  hard,  monotonous  ring  in 
her  voice,  and  makes  her  unpleasant  explanations 
eagerly,  as  if  unburdening  her  conscience. 

''  He  was  very  good,"  says  Urquhart,  ironically. 
It  is  rather  hard  on  him  to  find  such  a  man  as  this 
Chaudron  objecting  to  his  daughter's  marrying  him, 
for  any  other  reason  than  that  of  personal  fear,  or 
some  latent  feeling  of  honor.  "  I  should  think  your 
relatives  might  have  made  some  excuse  for  break- 
ing off  a  match  they  found  disagreeable,  without 
telling  unpleasant  facts.  They  have  certainly  not 
forgotten  all  their  knowledge  of  the  world." 

"  But  I  would  not  have  allowed  them  to  make 
an  excuse  which  nught  have  made  me  seem  in 
fault,  when  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  says 
Milicent  with  decision. 

"  I  might  feel  immensely  flattered  by  your  con- 
stancy, if  I  had  any  faith  in  your  love  for  me." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  do  not  believe  in 
that  ?  "  asks  Milicent,  turning  round  for  the  first 
time  to  face  him. 

"  I  think  I  have  very  good  ground  to  found  a 
doubt  upon.  It  appears  to  me  that  when  a  man 
tells  a  girl  he  loves  her  enough  to  wish  to  marry 
her,  if  she  has  a  true  feeling  of  love  for  him 
she  will  tell  him  of  any  just  impediment  to  their 
engagement.  Deception,  then,  certainly  is  not 
prompted  bv  love." 


260 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


a 


Then 


you 


asks  Milicent, 


(( 


conHider 
quickly, 


my  father  an  impediment  ? 


»» 


I  assuredly  think  I  ought  to  have  had  the  poor 
privilege  of  judging  whether  he  is  or  not.  And  I 
infer  that  you  thought  the  same,  or  you  would  not 
have  been  so  discreetly  silent.  Unless  you  were 
really  ignorant  of  how  men  look  upon  your  father's 
conduct,"  Urquhart  adds  as  a  saving  clause. 

But  Milicent  will  take  no  benefit  of  it. 

"  I  knew  it  had  separated  my  mother  from  my 
father,  and  had  killed  her.  That  told  me  far  more 
of  its  guilt  than  the  mere  disfavor  of  strangers.  I 
never  had  a  doubt  how  you  would  look  upon  it." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  you  were  silent 
because  you  were  in  love  with  me,"  says  Urquhart 
scornfully. 

"Not  at  first.  Certainly  not  the  evening  we 
were  in  the  boat  together,  and  you  told  me  you 
wished  to  marry  me.  You  tempted  me  sorely  then. 
I  was  so  wretched  and  miserably  unhappy,  and  you 
opened  to  me  a  door  of  escape  out  of  my  troubles. 
If  you  had  not  said  so  much  of  the  life  we  would 
live  abroad,  and  had  not  promised  that  I  should 
never  come  back  here,  I  should  have  refused  you 
at  once." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  I  bribed  you  to  engage 
yourself  to  me  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  indignantly. 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  really  meant  to  bribe 
me ;  though  I  suppose  you  must  have  had  some 
reason  for  dwelling  on  the  subject  so  much." 

"  My  only  object  was  to  make  our  marriage  fea- 
sible," he  begins. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


251 


we 


"  Aunt  Ursula  said  you  wished  to  live  abroad 
because  you  were  ashamed  of  me.  That  made  but 
little  difference  to  me  then,"  interrupts  Milicent. 

"  Why  did  it  make  but  little  difference  to  you  ? 
Moat  girls  are  sensitive  as  to  their  lover's  opinions 
of  them." 

"  Did  I  not  say  my  great  desire  was  to  get  away 
from  here  ?     And  that  was  what  you  offered  me." 

"And  I  imagined  I  was  so  very  fortunate  in 
winning  you !  I  was  so  sure  you  knew  nothing  of 
worldly  advantages, —- that  you  would  marry  me 
entirely  for  the  love  of  me.  I  congratulated  my- 
self upon  winning  a  fresh,  unsophisticated  heart, 
which  it  was  my  privilege  to  teach  to  love." 

She  answers  nothing.  She  is  looking  not  at 
him,  but  past  him,  far  out  over  the  sea,  where  the 
fog  draws  a  veil  of  distance. 

It  is  gray  enough,  blank  enough.  And  yet  it  is 
the  same  sea  that  glowed  and  sparkled  all  about 
her,  that  first  evening  when  he  told  her  of  that 
fairy-tale  she  was  to  live:  the  very  waves  then 
seemed  to  take  the  story  up,  and  rippled  past  the 
boat's  prow  merrily.  Now,  she  is  listening  to  their 
long  withdrawing  moan  along  the  ledges  that  more 
and  more  stretch  out  before  her,  black  with  the 
wet  kelp.  And  now  the  moaning  silence  is  broken 
by  Urquhart's  bitter  voice :  — 

"  What  egregious  fools  we  are,  over  to  trust 
you  !  I,  who  had  run  the  gauntlet  of  all  the  match- 
making mammas  and  their  well-trained  daughters, 
and  had  managed  to  pass  unscathed,  was  at  last 
fooled  bv  a  Drettv  face,  whinh  T  fnvenofli  fVi«„o.;.f 


t 

(, 


262 


PTLOT  FORTUNE. 


li 

lli! 


knew  nothing  of   masks,  much   less   dreamed  of 
wearing  one." 

"  I  did  not  tell  you  then  that  I  loved  you.  On 
the  contrary,  I  only  promised  to  learn  from  you," 
says  Milicent,  flushing  scarlet  under  his  bitter  sa'r- 
casm. 

"  When  a  girl  promises  to  marry,  a  man  nat- 
urally infers  she  is  in  love  with  him,  though  he 
sometimes  may  think  she  is  too  shy  to  confess  it. 
I  acknowledge  that  was  my  mistake.  If  I  had 
known  you  were  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter,  I  might 
have  pressed  for  a  stronger  avowal  of  your  feel- 


ings. 


^  At'  least  our  cases  are  parallel  so  far,"  says 
Milicent,  quite  calm  under  this  taunt,  though  there 
is  an  evident  effort  on  her  part  to  be  so.  "  You 
were  not  so  very  open  with  me,  or  you  would  have 
told  me  it  was  on  my  account  you  intended  to 
exile  yourself.  That  you  were  ashamed  of  me 
and  "  — 

"  Not  ashamed,  Milicent ;  that  I  never  was,  in 
the  sense  you  use  it,"  interrupts  Urquhart ;  "I  was 
exceedingly  proud  of  you." 

"Of  my  appearance,  perhaps:  that  is,  when  I 
was  properly  dressed.  But  as  I  am,  you  would 
never  have  cared  to  introduce  me  into  your  society. 
And  I  —  I  desired  to  get  rid  of  a  life  I  detested. 
v^^e  both  had  something  we  did  not  care  to  speak 
of."  ^ 

"  I  must  say  I  fail  to  see  any  paraUel,  simply 
because  there  is  such  an  immense  difference  in  the 
degree  and  kind  of  deception.     I  was  dcepl-^  in 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


253 


On 


in 


love  with  you,  and,  rather  than  part  from  you, 
was  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  which,  if  I  had  ex- 
plained to  you,  you  would  not  have  understood. 
Whereas,  you,  by  your  own  confession,  did  not 
care  in  the  least  for  me,  and  only  wished  to  marry 
me  to  get  rid  of  a  life  you  detested.  And  the 
thing  which  made  it  detestable  to  you,  you  were 
bound  in  all  honor  to  tell  me." 

"I  grant  all  you  say,"  says  Milicent,  wearily. 
"I  acknowledge  that  all  I  did  was  wicked  and 
cowardly.  I  ought  to  have  said ;  '  My  father  is 
dishonest,  and  in  hiding.'  I  could  not  do  it,  that 
is  aU." 

The  simple  logic  of  those  last  words  might  have 
been  enough  for  Urquhart,  if  he  could  have  seen 
the  dead-white  face  that  is  a  comment  on  them. 
But  it  is  averted ;  and  presently  she  says,  in  a 
quite  steady  voice  :  — 

"  I  never  touched  one  penny  of  that  money,  — 
and  have  lived  hard  and  scantily  all  my  life,  but 
honestly ;  and  so  ignorant  am  I  of  what  you  call 
honor,  I  never  guessed  how  wickedly  I  have  be- 
haved to  you,  until  now  that  you  tell  me  so.  At 
first  my  feelings  were  purely  selfish.  I  don't  be- 
lieve I  thought  very  much  about  them.  I  was  un- 
happy, and  impatient  under  my  trials.  After- 
wards, when  I  had  learned  to  love  you,  I  saw  fully 
my  mistake  —  or  crime,  as  you  may  please  to  call 
it.  But  I  grew  frightened  at  my  father's  secret. 
My  love  for  you  made  me  all  the  more  timid." 

"  Timidity  is  the  last  weakness  I  would  expect 
in  you ;  and  as  to  your  love  for  me  "  — 


I!lj 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 

^'  That  at  least  you  do  not  doubt,"  Milicent  says 
quickly,  turning  towards  him. 

"  It  did  not  seem  very  much  as  if  it  were  acted ; 
and  yet,  when  one  loses  confidence  " 

"Not   in   that,"  she   says,   interrupting   again. 
"I  have  deceived  you  in  much  — but  not  in  that." 

"  But  what  a  paltry  love  it  was,  when  you  could 
not  trust  me  with  your  father's  —  secret." 

"  It  was  not  lack  of  trust  that  kept  me  silent," 
explains  Milicent.  "  I  was  afraid  that  words  be- 
tween you  and  my  father  might  separate  us.  In 
fact,  I  feared  that  something  very  much  like  what 
happened  yesterday  would  be  a  barrier  between  us." 

"  How  long  did  you  intend  to  observe  this  si- 
lence, may  I  ask?  "  says  Urquhart,  stiU  feeling  on 
unsafe  ground. 

"  Only  until  after  our  marriage.  My  father 
could  not  have  separated  us  then/'  she  answers 
simply. 

"  And  did  you  suppose  it  would  strengthen  my 
love  for  you,  to  hear  you  make  such  a  confession 
when  you  had  robbed  me  of  aU  power  of  action?  " 
asks  Urquhart,  in  surprise. 

"  I  never  thought  you  would  care  to  act  on  it. 
I  considered  anything  would  be  preferred  by  you 
to  the  risk  of  losing  me.  You  had  said  so  more 
than  once,  and  I  foolishly  believed  you,"  says  Mil- 
icent, with  much  of  her  old  asperity.  "  I  have  not 
the  slightest  curiosity  about  your  father.  If  he 
were  hung,  it  would  not  make  any  difference  to 
me,"  adds  Milicent,  with  growing  irritation.  "  I 
never  thought  of  your  family." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


255 


?> 


"  You  forget  I  was  ready  to  give  Miss  Ursula 
full  particulars  on  that  head,"  says  Urquhart, 
gravely. 

"  And  if  you  had  told  her  you  had  father  and 
mother  and  a  dozen  brothers  and  sisters,  it  would 
not  have  made  the  slightest  difference  to  me.  I 
expected  to  marry  you,  not  them." 

"Not  an  uncommon  mistake,"  says  Urquhart, 
quietly ;  and  then,  suddenly  bending  down'  to  look 
into  her  face,  — "Tell  me  the  truth,  Milicent. 
Was  there  never  a  time  when  you  had  a  desire  to 
be  frank  and  honest  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  longed  to  speak  that  night  we  were 
driven  out  to  sea,  —  the  night  of  my  birthday.  I 
could  not  bear  to  think  I  might  die,  and  some  one 
else  would  tell  you ;  or  that  we  both  might  die,  and 
you  would  in  some  way  discover  it.  I  fancy  every 
one  who  has  a  painful  secret  must  feel  so  at  times ; 
at  least  on  one's  death-bed." 

She  has  lost  her  petulance,  and  says  this  softly, 
almost  dreamily. 

"  Why  did  you  not  speak  ?  You  must  have  felt 
sure  I  would  not  reproach  you  then." 

"  You  forget  Stephen  was  with  us." 

"  Stephen  would  have  held  sacred  what  you  say 
was  as  a  death-bed  confession." 

"  But  I  had  promised  Aunt  Ursula  not  to  tell 
Stephen ;  and  then,  of  all  times,  I  dared  not  break 
my  promise." 

"  So  you  acknowledge  you  understand  the  sacred- 
ness  of  a  promise ! "   says  Urquhart,  with  bitter- 

npao  "  TVTVi-ir   -nTaa    if   fliof    ftfr.-r»V. 


. --.rw-n    ttTna    »-»i^4*    4-/\    \r-v\r\x\T 


256 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


m 


what  neither  your  father  nor  Miss  Ursula  objected 
to  your  teUing  me?"  he  adds,  with  ill-concealed 
curiosity. 

"  It  would  have  been  difficult  for  my  father  to 
have  continued  his  disguise,  if  any  one  on  the  isl- 
and knew  his  history;  and  Aunt  Ursula  would 
have  been  wretched  about  him:  so  many  of  the 
fishermen  in  the  village  dislike  my  father,  and 
some  of  them  are  poor,  and  perhaps  one  might  not 
mind  making  a  little  money  on  the  misfortunes  of 
others,  —  and  they  would  gain  something  upon  in- 
forming against  him,  would  they  not?"  Milicent 
asks  anxiously. 

Urquhart  nods  yes. 
^  "  There  were  other  reasons,"  she  says,  releasing 
him  from  her  anxious  gaze,  and  looking  straight 
before  her. 

"  What  were  they  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  more  eager 
to  hear  since  she  appears  reluctant  to  speak. 

"  Both  my  father  and  Aunt  Ursula  wished  me 
to  marry  Stephen,"  she  begins ;  and  then  sits  look- 
ing at  a  vessel  in  the  offing. 

"  And  feared,  if  he  heard  anything  of  your  fa- 
ther's history,  he  would  decline  to  do  so  ?  Their 
dread  ought  to  have  taught  you  how  to  act  in  re- 
gard to  me,"  says  Urquhart,  reproachfally. 

"  Stephen  would  not  have  cared  in  the  least ;  but 
I  could  not  make  them  believe  he  would  not,"  she 
answers  quietly,  not  taking  her  eyes  off  the  incom- 
ing vessel. 

There  is  much  in  her  voice,  as  well  as  in  her 
manner,  that  causes  Urquhart  to  ask  sharply :  — 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


257 


"  Why  are  you  so  sure  Ferguson  would  not  have 
eared  ?  I  know  by  his  own  confession  that  he  was 
in  love  with  you." 

Then,  bending  towards  her  so  that  he  can  see  her 
face  the  better,  he  adds,  "Was  there  ever  any- 
thing between  you  and  Stephen?" 

"Yes,"  she  says  slowly,  returning  his  glance. 
"  We  were  engaged  to  each  other." 

"  For  how  long  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  the  old  look 
of  determination  to  know  everything  returning  to 
his  face :  a  suspicious  look,  as  well  as  a  stubborn 
one. 

"  When  we  were  small  children,  we  had  an  idea 
that  some  day  we  would  grow  up  and  be  married," 
replies  Milicent,  with  evident  evasion. 

"  But  after  you  were  no  longer  children  ?  "  asks 
Urquhart,  bluntly. 

Finding  Milicent  disinclined  to  answer  him,  he 
shapes  his  question  differently  :  — 

"  Was  your  engagement  with  Ferguson  broken 
before  or  after  I  came  here  ?  " 

"  After,  but  not  very  long  after." 

"  Of  course  you  had  a  sufficient  reason  for  break- 
ing with  him  ?  " 

"  I  had  promised  Aunt  Ursula  not  to  tell  Ste- 
phen of  my  father,"  begins  Milicent. 

"  And  it  was  because  of  this  promise  that  you 
would  not  marry  him  ?  " 

Milicent's  stiff  silence  is  affirmation  enough; 
and  Urquhart  continues  with  increasing  bitterness, 
"  You  would  have  married  me  without  considering 
it  worth  wliile  to  give  me  a  hint  of  the  mystery  you 

17 


258 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


I 


■ 


lived  in,  though  you  were  under  no  promise  bind- 
ing you  to  sUence.     Pray  do  not  trouble  yourself 
to  make  an  excuse,"  he  adds,  seeing  she  is  about  to 
speak.     "  There   is  nothing  you  could  urge  that 
could  m  the  smaUest  degree  palliate  your  conduct 
to  me.     I  could  have  forgiven  your  having  kept 
Irom  me  your  father's  name,  if  fear  for  him  had 
prompted  your  deceit.     I  might  have  thought  the 
peculiarities   of  your   life   here   had  -  well,  had 
biased  your  ideas  of   right   and  wrong.     But  in- 
stead,  I  find  you  have   the  very  nicest   sense  of 
honor  where  Ferguson  is  concerned;    and  that  I 
am  only  so  unfortunate  that  you  cannot  treat  me 
openly.     You  must  pardon  me  if,  on  my  soul    I 
can  draw  but  one  conclusion;  which  is,  that  you 
had  much  better  marry  Ferguson  than  me." 

"  Did  you  send  for  me  to  give  me  this  advice  ?  " 
she  asks,  icily. 

"  I  sent  for  you,  hoping  you  could  make  even  a 
paltry  excuse  for  your  conduct.  I  was  willing  to 
take  one  so  threadbare  that  it  could  scarce  serve 
as  a  covering  to  your  error  " 

"And  you  failed  to  find  one  ?"  — interrupting 
him.  ^     ° 

"  I  failed  to  find  even  the  shadow  of  one.  Your 
desire  to  get  away  from  here  seems  to  have  been 
so  great  you  never  chose  to  consider  whether  I 
might  object  to  being  made  a  fool  of.  In  com- 
monest  honesty  " 

"  If  dishonesty  is  a  taint  in  tlie  blood,  you  ought 
not  to  be  too  hard  on  me,"  interpolates  Milicent, 
with  a  mocking  assumption  of  humility. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


269 


"  You  sin  with  a  full  knowledge  of  your  guilt, 
only  you  choose  your  victims.  Ferguson  you  would 
not  be  persuaded  to  deceive  :  while  you  had  not  the 
slightest  compunction  where  I  was  concerned." 

"  Yet  there  was  a  difference  between  you  and  "  — 

"  I  never  imagined  for  a  moment  that  there  was 
not  a  difference  between  us,"  interrupts  Urquhart ; 
"  only  I  flattered  myself  that  if  you  had  to  make 
a  choice  between  us,  I  would  not  be  the  one  you 
would  sacrifice.  But  it  appears  that  I  have  been 
egregiously  in  the  wrong." 

"  There  was  a  difference,  if  you  will  let  me  ex- 
plain it,"  Milicent  begins  again,  in  a  hard,  forced 
voice.  "  Stephen,  living  here  and  knowing  my 
father,  and  not  knowing  of  the  relationship  be- 
tween us,  disliked  him  ;  and  I  never  could  have 
kept  the  peace  between  them,  for  every  sign  of 
displeasure  to  me  on  my  father's  part  Stephen 
would  have  resented.  I  had  foolishly  promised 
Aunt  Ursula  not  to  tell  Stephen ;  and  I  could  not 
possibly  have  lived  on,  day  after  dav,  deceiving 
him." 

"  I  can  very  plainly  see  the  difficulties  in  your 
life  as  Ferguson's  wife,"  Urquhart  replies,  sarcas- 
tically. "  My  stupidity  is  in  not  discovering  how 
marrying  me  would  not  have  been  at  least  quite 
as  awkward." 

"Abroad,  no  one  would  ever  know  I  have  a 
father"  — 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  your  father's  reputation 
has  not  traveled  ?  That  Mr.  Chaudron  is  not  as 
well  known  and  remembered  as  Thomas,  Miss  Ur- 


260 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


aula's  fisherman,  is  known  in  the  village?  Are  you 
aware  of  the  very  strong  likeness  you  bear  to  your 
father?  That  three  months'  skulking  from  place  to 
place  would,  short  of  a  miracle,  be  as  much  as  I 
could  reasonably  expect  to  hide  your  parentage ; 
and  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter  would  be  far  better 
known  than  my  wife,  I  not  having  the  distinc- 
tion "  — 

"  Stop  !  "  she  cries  out  vehemently,  and  raising 
both  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow.  "  I  see  it  all 
now.     I  was  terribly  blinu.  ' 

^  One  instant's  gaspmg  pause,  in  which  her  color 
flickers  from  white  to  red,  and  red  to  white  again. 
But  when  Urquhart,  startled,  would  have  spoken, 
she  stops  him. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  shocked  at  the  magni- 
tude of  my  offense.     I  only  thought  to  deceive  you 
as  to  my  father,  whom  I  presumed  the  world  had 
long  forgotten,  and  would  never  dream  I  had  any- 
thing to  do  with.     I  did  not  know  his  name  was 
written  on  my  face,  and  you  would  blush  to  own 
me.      I  never  thought  I  would  be  a  reproach  to 
you.     A  little  rusticity  and  awkwardness  was  the 
worst  I  feared :  and  never  even  that,  until  I  went 
for  that  little  while  to  St.  John.      I  cannot  expect 
you  to  pardon  me,"  Milicent  goes  on  to  say,  her 
eyes  all  ablaze  with  some  feeling  not  akin  to  con- 
trition.   "  And  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  have  said 
to  me  all  you  have." 

Urquhart  is  aghast.  His  j-alousy  of  Stephen 
has  goaded  him  into  speaking  words  he  would 
gladly  have  Milicent   forget.     She   was   so  quiet 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


261 


under  much  of  his  merited  reproaches  that  he  is 
utterly  dumfounded  by  her  sudden  indignation 
under  his  unmerited  one. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  reproach  yoa  for  being  like 
your  father,"  he  begins,  with  an  uncomfortable 
assurance  of  his  absurd  position. 

"No,  that  would  be  rather  unjust,"  interrupts 
Milicent,  so  quietly  that  one  would  never  suspect 
her  ebullition  of  wrath  just  a  minute  before. 
"  One  difficulty  has  been  our  seeing  everything  by 
so  different  a  light,  —  I  by  the  light  of  a  penny 
candle,  and  you  by  the  sun's  full  glare.  No 
wonder  I  overlooked  all  the  corners  you  saw  so 
plainly." 

"  And  now  you  are  looking  at  the  shadows," 
says  Urquhart,  quickly.  "You  should  not  recall 
my  inadvertent  words.  I  was  angry  —  jealous,  if 
you  will.     I  have  always  been  jealous  of  Stephen." 

"  Jealous  of  Stephen  !  "  repeats  Milicent,  with 
unfeigned  surprise  in  her  voice.  "  I  cannot  see 
how  you  could  fancy  that  I  could  appreciate  such  a 
man  as  Stephen.  None  but  a  woman  as  unselfish 
and  as  good  as  he  is  himself  could  do  so." 

"  It  is  infinitely  pleasant  to  hear  the  girl  one  is 
engaged  to  so  very  appreciative  of  one's  friend," 
says  Urquhart,  politely. 

"  But  we  are  no  longer  engaged,"  protests  Mili- 
cent, with  ill-suppressed  vehemence.  "  Have  you 
not  told  me  you  have  no  desire  to  marry  Mr.  Cliau- 
dron's  daughter  ?  Unfortunately,  I  cannot  deny 
my  father." 

"  I  am  very  sure  I  said  nothing  of  the  kind.     I 


262 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


iiii:, 


was  naturally  angry  to  find  you  had  deceived  me, 
and  perhaps  I  did  not  weigh  my  words  sufficiently. 
But  of  (;our  0,  if  you  would  like  to  make  a  choice 
again,  i*uu  Ferguson  is  willing  "  — 

"  Why  do  you  mention  Stephen's  name,  or  any- 
thing but  the  fact  that  we  have  met  to  say  good- 
by?"  interrupts  Milifont,  hotly.  "  I  will  not  say 
I  am  sorry  y(;u  came  here  ;  but  I  will  ask  you  to 
leave  at  once." 

"Thank  you.  At  last  you  deign  to  be  frank 
with  me." 

"I  am  not  so  stupid  that  I  cannot  learn  the 
lesson  you  set  me,"  says  Milicent,  with  a  slight 
lifting  of  her  shoulders.  "  I  shall  certainly  never 
try  to  deceive  you  again." 

*'  If  you  had  learned  the  lesson  sooner,  we  should 
both  have  l^en  spared  this  scene,"  remarks  Ur- 
quhart. 

"  If  it  wore  what  you  please  to  call  my  deceit, 
that  separated  us,  I  should  but  reap  of  the  seeds 
of  my  own  sowing,"  says  Milicent,  more  quietly. 
"But  it  is  my  being  my  father's  aaughter  that  has 
divided  us.  I  cannot  tell  what  it  is.  in  wliat  you 
call  '  the  world,'  that  makes  such  cowards  of  other- 
wise brave  men ;  but  I  see  it  would  require  great 
courage  in  you  to  say,  'My  wife  is  Mr.  Chaudron 
the  famous  forger'-  daughter.'  For  myself  I  would 
rather  live  on  here  alone  "  — 

"Alone,  Milicent?" 

"  I  could  scarcely  a  k  you  to  come  here  to  live. 
Thomas  the  fisherman  would  be  no  more  to  your 
liking  than  Mi-.  Chaudron  is." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


263 


"  Milicent,  be  careful !  "  says  Urquhart,  sharply, 
as  if  she  wero  in  some  sudden  peril. 

"  I  shall  run  no  risk,"  she  answers  calmly.  "  It 
is  needless  to  lose  patience,  and  Aunt  Ui  uda  is 
constantly  warning  me  I  am  too  hot-teni])pred. 
Why  should  we  tax  each  other's  politeness  ?  There 
is  nothing  left  to  us  but  to  shake  hands  and  say 
good-by." 

"  Could  we  not  even  dispense  with  the  formality 
of  the  hand-shaking  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  ironically. 

"  Certainly."  Milie<3nt  places  her  hands  out  of 
all  danger,  by  clasping  them  behind  her.  "  Good- 
by,  Mr.  Urquhart,  and  may  you  and  the  Undine 
have  a  safe  voyage." 

Nettled,  indeed  stinging  with  anger  as  if  Mili- 
cent had  given  him  a  blow  in  the  face,  Urquhart 
lifts  his  hat  politely,  and  walks  away.  This  daugh- 
ter of  Mr.  Chaudron's  should  not  treat  him  so. 
One  would  fancy  he  was  in  fault,  not  she.  She 
was  glad  of  a  quarrel,  —  glad  of  the  smallest 
chance  to  break  with  him.     Stephen  — 

He  puts  away  the  thought  before  it  ha,'  more 
than  suggested  itself  to  liiui.  Just  now  he  cannot 
harbor  it. 

Urquhart  strides  on,  over  the  rocks.  Once  he 
turns  to  look  back,  and  sees  that  Milicent  has  not 
moved.  Her  girlish  figure  stands  out  sharply  de- 
fined against  the  pale  autumn  sky,  —  ^uch  a  for- 
lorn, lonely  little  on  ,  sitting  there  amid  t  all  that 
dreary  waste  of  rock  and  water.  Could  he  leave 
her  so  ?  Leave  her  to  battle  alone  against  such  a 
cruel  fortune  as  liers  must  be  ?    Has  she  not  said 


264 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


m 


she  (leceivod  him  bccauHc  of  hor  love  for  him?  I^i- 
cause  she  feared  just  what  has  come  to  tiiem,  their 
separation  ?  After  all,  would  it  not  bo  easier  to 
forgive  her  than  to  walk  away,  as  lit;  is  doing  now 
—  to  leave  her?  Would  not  anything  be  better 
than  this  parting  in  utter  bitterness  and  anger  ? 
It  is  small  comfort  to  think  it  is  Milieent's  own 
fault,  not  his,  that  has  sundered  them. 

Still  Urquhart  walks  on,  not  bairk.  Ib>  cannot 
in  his  heart  forgive  Milicent,  and  Jior  shai-p  words 
cannot  bo  /orgottcjn  in  a  moment.  As  he  said,  ho 
is  by  no  means  sure  of  her  love  for  him  ;  and  ho 
could  not  overlook  that  she  has  been  far  more  loyal 
and  tender  to  Stephen  than  to  him.  He  glances 
back  no  more,  to  see  what  has  become  of  Mili(!ent. 

It  is  impossible  to  hear  a  footfall,  for  the  thun- 
der of  the  waves :  but  presently  he  hears  some  one 
calling  his  name. 

He  stops,  and  looks  back. 

Milicent  is  coming  towards  him.  After  all  she 
has  said,  she  could  not  let  him  go !  Poor  little 
Milicent !  this  is  her  love  for  him.  He  wrongcul 
her  cruelly  when  he  said  —  not  only  to  her,  but  also 
to  himself  —  that  she  does  not  love  him. 

He  stands  still,  waiting  for  her.  In  his  eyes, 
she  had  never  looked  fairer,  not  even  when  sho 
wore  the  dove-colored  silk,  than  sho  does  as  sho 
comes  to  him,  her  paleness  all  gone,  her  eyes  bright 
with  eagerness.  She  has  taken  off  her  hat,  and 
the  sea-wind  has  played  roughly  with  her  hair, 
which  she  has  to  push  out  of  her  eyes  with  her  two 
hands,  as  she  stands  quite  near  him. 


VI I  Ayr  FoiiTdNh: 


20/ 


Ro- 


Uniuliait  i'oiiM  Imvo  ciinuflit  lu»i-  in  Iuh  anim  and 
kisHCMllior;  Imt  knowin^^  Iht  coyiu^HH,  Im  takt^M  tlio 
\vis<«r  part  (jf  Htaiidiii^^  to  wait  for  Ikt. 

"Wo  iiuiHt  not  jiait  in  ang<?r,"  HayH  Miliccnt, 
novor  lookiiin-  up  i„to  his  fuco  wluui  hIio  <;onu'H  to 
him.     "  Ah  wo  hIuiU  ncvor  hoo  oacli  <»tlu'i'  a^-ain. 

Ill  1^  ■ 

W(i  Hlioiild  not  hav(!  only  hittor  wonls  to  n  imoiiiIkt. 
It  Ih  mucli  ('aHi(U'  to  ask  ror;;ivon('HM  than  to  ^o 
thron^h  life  nncortaiii  whothcr  it  has  over  l)eon 
granted  ns." 

"  Will  yon  for«r(.t  tho  liard  things  w<^  havo  naid 
to  <!jurh  otli(!r7"  asks  Unjidiart,  eagerly. 

Hc!  winhoH  h(^  liud  l»eon  kjHH  harnh  ;  that  if  they 
nuiHt  ])art,  therci  shonhl  liavo  ]»eeii  no  anger,  only 
sorrow. 

"  YoH.      I  shall  forg(!t  thi^in." 

Uninhart  looks  jit  her  wistfully.  jh>  does  not 
know  how  to  take;  the  sting  of  utter  <M)l(ln(!ss  out  of 
this  ])arting.  Could  tlusy  shaloi  hands  as  fric^nds 
wonhl,  and  go  their  s<;voral  ways,  n(!Vor  hoping  to 
mciot  again  in  iif<;  ?  It  was  (sasier  to  i)art  in  anger 
than  in  eool  fricindlinoss.  Hut  Milieent  comes  to 
his  hoi]). 

"  Do  yon  romomhcir,"  she;  says,  "  the  (ivening  you 
told  me  you  loved  nn;,  I  was  angry  with  you  Imj- 
cause  you  kissed  me,  and  you  said  tho  next  time  I 
should  ask  you  myscdf  ?  Will  you  kiss  nuj  for 
good-by?  " 

Urquhart's  answer  is  to  take  her  in  his  arms. 

He  knows  perfectly  well  that  she  not  only  means 
it  for  their  farewell,  but  also  for  a  sign  and  seal  of 
mutual  forgiveness.     But  as  he  rains  down  kisses 


266 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


on  her  mouth,  her  brow,  her  eyes,  while  she  lies  for 
one  little  moment  passive  in  his  arms,  there  is  no 
farewell  in  his  heart. 

He  could  no  more  have  left  her  there  and  then 
than  he  could  have  turned  his  back  on  heaven,  if 
he  had  had  a  glimpse  of  its  joys.  What  to  him 
were  the  sneers  of  a  few  worldlings,  in  comparison 
with  Milicent's  love  ?  Even  Mr.  Chaudron  might 
become  bearable  as  father-in-law,  if  Milicent  were 
the  bond  between  them. 

^  "Milicent,"  says  Urquhart,  softly,  "I  cannot 
live  without  you.  Let  it  be  as  it  was  between  us." 
She  has  freed  herself  from  his  embrace,  and 
moves  a  pace  or  two  from  him.  "  No,"  she  an- 
swers, firndy.  "That  was  our  farewell;  we  can- 
not go  back  now." 

"  Why  can't  we  ?  Who  is  to  say  us  nay  ?  " 
"  It  never  would  have  done,"  Milicent  goes  on, 
never  heeding  his  questions.  "  Even  if  there  had 
been  nothing  else,  I  never  could  have  borne  the 
knowledge  that  your  friends  pitied  you  for  being 
caught  by  what  you  considered  a  pretty  face." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  listen  to  such  nonsense  as 
that,"  interrupts  Urquhart,  hastily.  "  I  care  very 
little  for  the  sympathy  of  those  you  call  my 
friends." 

"But  you  care  for  mine,"  says  Milicent.  "I 
should  feel  sorry  for  you,  if  your  friends  thought 
lightly  of  you.  Sorry  for  you  and  nmch  more  for 
myself.  Every  time  you  were  quiet  or  sad,  I  should 
think  some  one  you  liked  had  slighted  you  on  my 
account.    If  you  found  fault,  or  suggested  a  change 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


267 


in  my  dress  or  manner,  I  should  torment  myself 
with  fear  that  you  were  ashamed  or  weary  of  me. 
I  could  never  be  meek  and  gentle  except  fitfully, 
for  it  is  not  my  nature ;  and  I  should  tax  myself 
with  being  wicked  and  ungrateful,  every  time  I  was 
cross  and  unreasonable.  I  should  fail  so  utterly  in 
my  new  life  that  you  could  not  help  feeling  tram- 
meled and  burdened  with  me." 

"Do  you  imagine  your  love  will  grow  colder  by 
being  with  me  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  half  tenderly,  half 
beseechingly.  "  Do  you  think  I  intend  you  shall 
not  love  me  more  than  you  ever  have  loved  me  be- 
fore?" 

"  It  would  never  increase  in  that  big  world  of 
yours.  The  little  time  I  spent  in  St.  John  proved 
that  to  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  it  irked  and 
chafed  me  ;  and  you  seemed  changed  and  unnatural, 
scarcely  kind  to  me.  I  would  have  tried  to  make 
myself  like  the  women  I  saw  ;  and  no  doubt  I  should 
have  succeeded  in  a  measure  then.  But  it  would 
be  impossible  now :  for  there  is  far  more  for  me  to 
overcome  than  a  few  gaucheries.  I  should  much 
oftener  recall  the  facL  that  I  am  my  father's  daugh- 
ter,  than  your  wife.  Here,  I  can  live  without  shame 
at  least." 

"  How  can  you  talk  of  a  future  without  me,  Mil- 
icent  ?  "  asks  Urquhart,  reproachfully. 

"Because  it  wiU  be  better  for  you  to  be  free  from 
me.  Yet  you  will  not  altogether  forget  your  sum- 
mer here  ?  " 

"  I  want  you,  not  a  memory,"  says  Urquhart,  sul- 
lenly. 


268 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  Not  if  I  would  do  you  a  harm  ?  You  will  not 
ask  me  to  do  that,"  she  says  gently.  "People 
must  not  bity  of  your  wife,  that  she  was  even  less 
honest  than  her  father.  That  he  only  took  money : 
but  that  I  tricked  you  into  marrying  me." 

Urquhart  would  have  replied  indignantly,  but 
Milicent  stops  him.  "  It  would  be  all  true,  you 
know.  Let  me  be  honest,  now  that  I  see  how  dis- 
honest I  was.  And  won't  you  say  good-by  ?  "  she 
pleads,  in  a  weary,  broken  voice.  "  I  cannot  tell 
why,  but  I  am  so  very,  very  tired." 

Unconsciously,  to  Urquhart  at  least,  they  have 
in  their  slow  walk  reached  the  little  path  down 
which  Milicent  came  alone  from  her  own  gate  to 
meet  him.  It  is  here  that  she  intended  to  part ; 
and  here  she  stops,  and  holds  out  her  hand. 

But  Urquhart  is  not  inclined  to  say  good-by 
now  or  at  any  other  time.  He  has  no  idea  of 
abiding  by  this  too  hasty  decision  of  Milicent's  ; 
even  though  a  little  while  before  he  exjiected  only 
so  much  grace  at  her  hands. 

He  has  changed  his  views  of  many  things  in  the 
last  ten  minutes ;  and  so  he  would  as  flatly  have 
refused  to  shake  hands  as  he  had  before,  and  would 
have  gone  on  arguing  his  points,  if  he  had  not 
chanced  to  look  into  her  face. 

It  is  a  pale,  weary  face,  with  a  strange,  strained 
expression  about  the  mouth,  which  tells  that  the 
poor  child  cannot  bear  very  much  more  just  now. 

He  must  wait  a  little  ;  giving  her  time  to  think, 
and  grow  calmer. 

"  I  will   not   say  good-by.      I   must   see   you 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


269 


again.  You  look  sadly  tired,  and  I  am  cruel  not 
to  have  seen  it  before.  You  must  go  home  and 
rest,  my  darling.  It  shaU  be  good-by  until  to- 
morrow;  and  then  "  — 

Milicent  smiles,  in  as  near  an  approach  to  her 
old  saucy  way  as  she  is  able  to  do,  and  then  holds 
out  her  hand,  which  Urquhart  clasps,  and  lightly 
kisses,  not  as  a  sign  of  fareweU,  but  as  an  earnest 
of  the  next  day's  meeting. 

Then  he  watches  her  pass  through  the  gate,  and 
over  the  path  that  leads  her  home ;  and  it  is  not 
until  he  has  lost  sight  of  her  altogether  ^  =rt  he 
goes  back  to  his  lodgings  and  tells  Mr.  Raymond, 
much  to  that  gentleman's  disguf^;;..  i\  at  he  had  bet- 
ter return  in  the  Dominion's  yv  t  trip,  without 
him  :  as  his,  Urquhart's,  stay  in  the  fishing-village 
IS  necessarily  indefinite. 


m^v  ■«fl«*¥w*»fr9!!»4|»»hMi 


XIV. 

"  A  faint  sea  without  wind  or  sun. 
A  life-like  flamelesa  vapor  dun, 

A  valley  like  an  unsealed  grave 
That  no  man  carea  to  weep  upon." 

Mr.  Raymond  could  not  be  persuaded  to  leave 
without  making  one  more  effort  for  Urquhart's 
emancipation.  What  was  to  be  that  master-stroke 
which  was  to  free  his  friend  he  gave  no  hint ;  but 
certainly  he  had  great  faith  in  it.  Urquhart's  in- 
terview, according  to  his  own  showing,  had  termi- 
nated most  unfortunately,  Mr.  Raymond  thought. 
He  naturally  dreaded  another :  his  great  desire  was 
to  prevent  it,  if  possible.  So  he  chose  the  cowardly 
mode  of  writing  a  letter  to  Milicent,  in  which  he  told 
her  in  plainer  words  than  he  would  have  had  the 
courage  to  speak,  how  Urquhart's  friends  and  Ur- 
quhart's world  would  regard  his  marriage  with  her. 

It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  letter  for  Mr.  Ray- 
mond to  write  to  Ursula  Chaudron's  niece;  yet 
he  was  closely  following  the  golden  rule,  for  he 
did  for  Urquhart  very  much  vhat,  in  like  cir- 
cumstances, he  had  done  for  himself.  He  never 
guessed  that  Milicent  had  taken  her  final  leave  of 
Urquhart.  That  it  was  an  unnecessary  wound,  he 
never  suspected ;  for  Milicent  was  silent  under  it ; 
and  Mr.  Raymond  for  the  rest  of  his  life  is  under 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


271 


the  hallucination  that  this  lasf.  effort  of  his  has 
been  a  great  success,  a  bit  of  well-performed  duty 
on  his  part  to  Urquhart,  of  which  he  is  willing  to 
enjoy  the  fruits,  without  hinting  how  they  were 
produced. 

But  the  letter  has  driven  Milicont  out  of  doors. 
The  sparks  are  flickering  out  of  that  harmless- 
looking  bit  of  cindery  ashes  on  her  hearth,  as 
the  flash  dies  out  of  her  eyes  ;  but  somehow  the 
fumes  of  the  burnt  paper  seem  to  fill  the  room, 
and  she  does  not  breathe  freeJy  until  she  has  shut 
the  house  door  on  them. 

There  is  no  fear  that  any  one  will  see  her :  the 
fog  gathers  so  closely  about  her,  as  she  clambers 
down,  the  nearest  way,  upon  the  cliffs.  The  fog- 
horn has  been  moaning  on  the  Fundy  side  of  the 
island  the  whole  morning,  showing  that  the  fog 
was  lurking  in  that  bay ;  and  by  the  time  the  sun 
is  weU  overhead,  it  is  no  longer  sun,  but  moon, 
floating  silverly  in  the  warm  haze. 

Milicent  has  gone  far  out ;  far  out  of  sight  of 
any  one  who  might  be  skirting  the  cliffs.  She  is  in 
a  strange,  still  world  aU  her  own,  with  everything 
shut  out  in  the  silver-gray  of  the  mist  blending 
with  the  silver-gray  encircling  sweep  of  waters^ 
Everything,  that  is,  but  the  wild  rock-world  in 
which  she  sits  and  listens  to  the  shrill  cry  of  a  fog- 
hidden  sea-bird ;  the  tinkle  of  a  sheep-bfll  on  the 
ciiif 's  green  brow ;  the  lapse  of  almost  sleeping  ed- 
dies round  the  rocks. 

She  is  staring  far  down  into  the  clear  water  of  a 
pool;  down  on  the  manifold  tints  the  dark  rocks 


272 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


have  taken  on,  with  their  long  tangle  of  rock-weed, 
—  the  golden-brown,  the  vivid  green,  the  long, 
broad  ribbons  oi.the  kelp,  that  float  in  and  out, 
upon  the  least  stir  of  the  water,  with  brown-fingered 
dulse  clinging  about  them.  Now  and  then,  one  of 
the  long  ribbons  turns  over  in  the  eddy,  like  some 
strange  sea-thing,  and  catches  one  glint  from  the 
sun  that  just  now  opens  a  round,  dim,  yellow-white 
window,  peering  into  that  strange  underworld, 
which  has  its  mystery  and  its  fascination  for  us 
all.  Hero  wave,  far  under  the  deep  water,  brown- 
green  tossing  tips,  which  might  be  the  close-press- 
ing tops  of  some  weird  sunken  forest.  And  there 
a  pocJ  lies  sullen  and  still,  until  some  breaker  leaps 
up,  curving  itself  for  the  plunge  over  a  low,  white- 
barnacled  rock :  until  the  rock  seems  slowly  to  up- 
heave itself,  and  to  move  forward,  a  huge  gray- 
green  sea-monster. 

Milicent  watches  it  all ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  the  sea  looks  to  her  a  terrible  thing,  full 
of  all  hidden  cruelties.  It  is  going  to  isolate  her 
here  forever ;  and  fate,  like  that  stealthy  wave,  has 
crept  about  her,  until,  as  it  roots  up  her  garden  of 
delight,  she  finds  out  for  the  first  time  how  many 
hopes  were  budding  there. 

Yes;  but  what  right  has  she  to  their  blossoming ? 

Ought  she  not  to  have  known,  that  evening 
when  she  drifted  with  Urquhart  upon  yonder 
golden  sea  —  now  blotted  out  —  that  she  had  no 
right  ?  But  her  shame  was  so  new  to  her  then  :  it 
seemed  something  apart  from  her ;  something  she 
could  leave  behind  her  on  this  wave-washed  rock, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


273 


while  her  gay  lover  sailed  away  with  her  into  that 
new  world  he  promised  her. 

Miss  Ursula  would  never  have  trusted  her  broth- 
er's perilous  secret  to  a  child ;  and  the  girl  had 
grown  up  with  a  shrinking  dislike  of  her  aunt's 
fisherman,  which  now  and  again,  though  rarely, 
some  familiarity,  or  touch  of  authority  on  his  part 
increased.  Then,  suddenly,  chance  as  it  were  tore 
away  the  mask ;  and  Miss  Ursula  had  to  tell  her 
the  whole  story.  Was  it  one  that,  like  a  magic 
word,  could  make  the  tender  blossoms  of  love  and 
faith  spring  up  from  such  bitter  seeds  as  had  been 
carelessly  sown  in  the  girl's  heart  ? 

She  is  not  thinking  all  this ;  she  is  but  feeling 
it,  and  feeling  it  only  dimly  and  blankly,  as  the  fog 
drifts  round  her  like  a  windy  veil.  She  hears  the 
fog-horn's  long  three  moans  across  the  island,  and 
the  longer  repetition  of  the  echo  on  the  rock-bound 
coast ;  and  then  suddenly  there  is  the  brisk  rock- 
ing sound  of  oars  upon  the  water.  Her  world  is 
no  longer  blank  to  Milicent. 

She  sits  there,  quivering  in  a  breathless  expect- 
ancy, half  hope,  half  dread.  What  if  it  were  Ur- 
quhart's  boat?  What  if  he  were  to  come  this 
way,  and  find  her  here  ? 

She  will  not  make  a  sound,  not  a  movement,  to 
call  him  to  her.     But  if  he  comes — 
He  does  not  come. 

That  long,  long  waiting  —  which  is  in  truth  so 
brief  a  space  —  is  over :  not  a  footstep  breaks  upon 
the  coming  and  retreating  of  the  waves  about  the 
rocks,  and  the  long-drawn  approach  of  the  tide-rip 

18 


274 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


in  the  distance.  Now  a  sheep-bell  tinkles  out,  as 
it  were  overhead ;  and  then  there  is  no  more.  The 
boatman,  whosoever  he  may  be,  has  gone  by  on 
the  other  side. 

The  girl  throws  her  arms  against  the  rock  be- 
side her,  and  buries  her  head  on  them.  She  is  not 
weeping.  She  is  only  hiding  her  face,  as  the  man 
fallen  wounded  by  the  wayside  might  have  hidden 
his,  in  his  despair,  when  the  priest  and  the  Levite 
passed  him  by  upon  the  other  side.  Wounded,  al- 
most unto  death,  —  and  no  one  coming  near  her ! 

After  a  while  she  grows  impatient  of  her  pain. 
She  will  not  lie  prostrate  under  it :  there  is  no 
Good  Samaritan  coming  to  her  by  the  wayside. 
She  will  stagger  to  her  feet,  and  keep  the  road, 
and  hide  her  wounds  as  best  she  may. 

But  now  that  she  is  literally?  as  well  as  metaphor- 
ically, on  her  feet,  she  finds  it  impossible  to  turn 
homeward,  and  to  face  at  once  the  old  life  there. 
Somehow  the  sea  soothes  her  with  its  strange,  mys- 
terious voice  :  she  longs  to  get  nearer  to  it  still. 

She  flings  herself  down  from  rock  fo  rock, 
lightly,  and  not  as  if  her  heart  lay  so  heavy  within 
her.  Her  foot  falls  without  a  sound  tliat  car.  be 
heard  for  the  waves'  gnirgie  in  and  out  among  the 
pools.  The  tide  is  far  out  t>till,  only  just  beginning 
to  turn;  and  she  knows  the  cliffs  directly  under 
Greenhead  are  accessible. 

But  Milicent  is  in  no  rambling  mood ;  she  goes 
no  farther  now  than  to  the  ledge  which  juts  out, 
facing  the  outer  one.  She  sits  in  a  roomy  elbow- 
chair  at  its  entrance,  and  turns  her  face  towards 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


276 


the  sea,  and  means  to  wait  until  it  steals  round 
her,  and  but  just  leaves  her  a  narrow  stairway  in 
the  rocks  to  climb  back  by  the  way  she  came. 

As  she  sits  there,  and  gazes  blankly  out  into  the 
fog  which  is  so  like  her  life,  so  dull  and  gray  and 
dim,  she  thinks  how  well  for  her  it  would  be  if 
the  tide  were  to  creep  up  and  up,  hemming  her  in, 
past  flight,  —  sweeping  her  out  into  the  wide  sea 
of  eternity.     One  gurgling  struggle,  perhaps  -- 

Nay,  she  knows  she  would  never  do  it ;  she  has 
started  up,  as  the  first  tiny  wavelet  creeps  sighing 
to  her  footstool.  Not  man>  moments  now,  and 
the  full  tide,  that  here  sweeps  in  so  rapidly,  will 
be  covering  the  great  rock-pile  about  her,  broken 
columns  and  pinnacles  and  beaches  and  all,  beneath 
those  inaccessible  cliffs. 

As  she  starts  from  her  seat,  half  frigh,';ened,  as 
if  her  wicked  thought  had  taken  shape  and  men- 
aced her,  the  memory  of  the  last  time  she  was 
here  with  Urquhart  keeps  her  lingering  ;  and  pres- 
ently draws  her  to  pass  round  the  near  cliff  into 
the  next  cove. 

Once  more  she  will  see  them  all ;  once  more  — 
and  then,  she  thinks,  never  again. 

As  she  passes  through  the  sort  of  gateway  lead- 
ing behind  one  of  the  buttresses,  she  starts  back. 
She  is  not  alone.  A  man  in  the  dress  of  a  fisher- 
man is  lying  prone,  face  downward,  on  the  shingle, 
his  head  hidden  on  his  arms. 

At  first,  the  girl's  heaic  stands  still  within  her. 
Is  he  dead,  —  drowned,  —  cast  up  by  the  sea  here, 
—  that  he  lies  so  motionless  ? 


276 


PILOT  /  "  RTUNK. 


But  her  second  p^lanoo  shovvs  lior  his  lothing  is 
not  wet :  his  slouched  hat  is  ])ulled  down  to  shade 
his  eyes.     lie  is  asleep,  ])eihaps? 

At  her  second  j;lance,  her  pale  face  j;iows  yet 
paler  ;  she;  *roes  a  step  nearer,  and  says :  — 

"  Father  "  — 

Iler  voice  is  low,  hardly  above  the  hoarse  mur- 
mur of  the  incoming  wave.  Perhaps  he  does  not 
hear  it ;  for  he  does  not  stir. 

A  little  nearer.     '^  Fatlun- !  " 

lie  lifts  his  head  then,  \\  ith  a  start. 

"  Milly  !  " 

She  is  quite  near  him  now,  but  he  looks  up  at 
her  witli  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes.     "  Milly  !  " 

He  never  calls  her  "  Milly." 

He  has  raised  himself  upon  his  elbow,  and  is 
looking  up  at  her  so  strangely.  The  girl  has  never 
seen  that  soft  look  in  his  eves  before. 

"  The  tide  is  coming  in  so  fast.  It  is  hemming 
us  in.     You  must  come  away,  at  once  !  " 

He  has  not  moved,  save  when  he  raised  himself 
to  look  at  her.  A  gray  dimness  like  a  cloud  has 
risen  in  his  eyes  and  shadows  his  face.  Milicent 
grows  frightened.  When  again  she  speaks  to  him, 
and  still  he  gives  no  sign,  she  goes  t«  him,  and 
puts  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Come !  " 

It  is  her  left  hand,  which  chances  to  be  nearest 
to  him  as  she  stands  with  her  back  turned  on  the 
sea.  He  puts  his  up,  and  draws  the  small  hand 
down,  and  looks  at  it,  stroking  it  gently  as  it  lies 
in  his  toil-hardened  palm  ;  lingering  over  it,  as  if 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


27T 


he  were  ffropiii|r  half  Mindly  for  a  ring  osi  the 
third  finger.  All  Milicont's  blood  riiHheH  to  hnr 
face;  tiicn  ebbs  again  as  suddenly,  lor  ht  is  si  /- 
ing:    - 

. ,  hand  would  have  had  my  ring  upon  it. 
I  must  hjivo  been  dreaming,  ohild.  T  took  you  for 
your  mother,  as  I  saw  you  standing  there  in  the 
mist  bi  tween  heaven  and  earth." 

He  has  never  before^  spoken  to  her  of  her 
mother. 

MihVent  stands  voiceless,  breatliless  ;  but  per- 
haps 1.1  oyes  press  him,  for  ne  says  hoarsely  :  — 

"  I  thought  it  was  .-n  over,  chikl,  and  that  Milly, 
your  mother,  —  th.-t  hIk-  had  come  to  tell  me  she 
forgave  nie,  for  the  little  one's  sake." 

"  All  over,  f;.ther  ?  "  There  is  something  in  his 
face,  in  his  voice,  that  terrifies  the  girl.  "  Come," 
she  cries,  with  a  glance  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
hurrying  water. 

He  flings  her  hand  almost  roughly  from  him,  as 
he  rises  to  his  feet.  "Yes,  I  am  coming.  But 
you  do  liot  know,  you  foolish  girl,  what  you  have 
done.  You  cannot  get  free  now  from  the  past,  its 
blots,  its  stains.  A  few  short  moments  more,  and 
the  sea  would  have  washed  away  —  would  have 
washed  away  "  — 

But  Milicent  is  clinging  to  him  in  a  very  frenzy 
of  terror. 

"Father!  father!" 

Is  it  possible  that  what  she  idly  dreamed  of 
for  a  moment,  as  the  end  of  all  these  doubts  and 
dreads,  he  had  deliberately  set  himself   to  bring 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


^ 


278 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


about?    Death,  that  would  put  his  grim  finis  to 
the  ill-told  story  — 

Chaudron  understands  her  cry.  He  puts  out  his 
hand  to  lift  her  to  a  higher  rock  —the  water  is 
creeping  up  to  their  feet  now,  laying  its  white, 
treacherous  hands  about  them.  "  I  was  half  mad,' 
I  think,"  is  what  he  answers  her.  "  It  would  have 
been  well  for  you  if  you  had  not  come,  mv  girl. 
Chaudron  safe  out  of  the  way,  his  daughter  would 
be  no  worse  than  many  a  nameless  girl  besides. 
And  MiUy  might  have  forgiven  me,  for  the  child's 
sake." 

He  has  half  forgotten  that  he  is  speaking  his 
thought  aloud.  Face  to  face  with  death  and  with 
despair  as  he  was  a  moment  since,  it  is  not  all  at 
once  that  he  can  feel  the  healing  virtue  that  goes 
out  of  those  small  hands  clasped  tightly  round  his 
arm. 

And  Milicent  — 

As  they  together  climb  up  the  wet  rocks,  into 
that  gray  and  foggy  life  of  theirs,  the  silent  tears 
come  dripping  down  over  her  white  cheeks. 

A  hand  has  touched,  but  gently,  and  not  smiting 
it,  that  heart  of  hers  which  lay  cold  and  hard  as  a 
rock  within  her ;  and  the  waters  have  gushed  out, 
not  bitterly,  but  as  a  healing  flood. 

With  the  heavy  tread  of  the  climbing  waves 
upon  the  rocks  no  lighter  footfall  can  be  heard. 

Thus,  if  some  one  passes  her  by,  not  very  far 
upon  the  other  side,  —  only  with  that  dense  waU 
of  fog  between,  —Milicent  does  not  know. 


XV. 

•  Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  sea ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 
Will  never  come  back  to  me." 

The  passer-by  is  Urquhart,  who  has  just  come 
rway  from  the  house,  where  Miss  Ursula  cooUy 
told  him  Milicent  was  out.  He  has  come  away  an- 
gry and  disappointed,  very  sure  that  Miss  Ursula 
and  her  brother  are  keeping  Milicent  from  seeing 
him.  He  does  not  believe  she  is  out ;  and  yet,  in 
the  slight  hope  it  gives  him  of  meeting  her  '  ho 
wanders  through  the  fog  in  every  direction  he 
thmks  it  in  the  least  possible  for  her  to  have  taken. 

The  fog  baffles  him  at  first;  then  the  sun  dis- 
perses it.  Then  later,  after  long  and  aimless  wan- 
dermg,  he  finds  himself  in  the  road  near  Stephen's 
cottage. 

Urquhart  opens  the  gate,  intending  to  take  the 
shorter  path  across  the  field  to  the  viUage.  He 
has  not  seen  Stephen  since  the  day  Mr.  Raymond 
came  to  Miss  Ursula's  house  to  be  introduced  to 
Milicent.  That  day  seems  very  long  ago.  If  all 
the  rest  of  Urquhart's  life  is  to  lag  like  these  four 
days,  his  allotted  threescore  years  and  ten  will  be 
interminable. 

The  frost  has  stripped  the  vines  against  the  cot- 


280 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


t- 


tage,  which  stands  out  a  white  blot  in  the  gather- 
ing twilight.  It  is  a  hint  to  Urquhart  that  he  has 
no  time  to  dally.  For  though  the  sea  lies  before  him 
unchanged,  as  if  for  it  the  cold  had  no  death-touch, 
yet  he  knows  from  the  fishermen's  well-spun  yarns, 
that  not  very  many  weeks  off  the  sail  to  St.  John, 
even,  would  be  not  only  uncomfortable,  but  haz- 
ardous, —  and  in  the  fogs  and  storms  the  Dominion 
could  not  be  trusted  to  steam  out  of  her  way  to 
seek  the  difficult  harbor  of  the  little  village.  And 
yet  Mr.  Chaudron  and  Miss  Ursula  are  both  using 
their  influence,  if  not  their  power,  to  delay  Mili- 
cent's  seeing  him. 

Suddenly  it  occurs  to  Urquhart  that  Stephen  is 
the  very  best  person  to  bring  about  an  interview 
with  Milicent,  the  very  one  he  could  send  a  mes- 
sage by.  No  doubt  it  is  the  sight  of  Stephen  cross- 
ing over  the  field  that  suggej:  5  to  Urquhart  the 
idea  of  using  him  as  a  medium  of  communication 
with  Milicent.  But  it  is  not  until  after  tea, — 
Stephen's  mention  of  which  substantial  meal  re- 
minds Urquhart  that  he  has  eaten  nothing  since 
early  breakfast,  —  when  the  two  men  are  smoking 
before  the  bright  wood  fire,  that  Urquhart  broaches 
the  subject. 

"  Have  you  seen  Milicent  lately  ?  "  he  asks, 
stooping  over  the  hearth,  to  knock  the  ashes  off 
his  cigar. 

"  Not  since  we  were  r.t  the  house  together,"  says 
Stephen  in  reply. 

"  Then  you  do  not  know  what  is  going  on  there  ;  '* 
indicating  the  direction  of  Miss  Ursula's  house  by 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


281 


»» 


a  motion  with  his  cigar.  "  They  are  preventing 
the  poor  child  from  seeing  me,  and  I  hoped  you 
coukl  tell  me  something  of  her  " 

"I  do  not  understand  how  they  could  prevent 
MiUy  from  seeing  you  "  —  begins  Stephen. 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  a  fact.  I  have  tried  in  vari- 
ous  ways  to  get  access  to  her.  I  wrote,  and  got  no 
answer.  I  even  went  to  the  house,  but  was  not  per- 
mined  to  see  her.  If  you  don't  call  that  coercion, 
I  don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word." 
^  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  not  seen  Milly 
since  the  day  we  were  at  Miss  Ursula's  together?  " 
asks  Stephen,  sharply. 

"I  have  seen  her  but  once.  Then  she  came  to 
the  cliffs,  by  my  reqi;e:.t,  and  "  — 

"Perhaps,  then,  it  is  your  own  fault  that  you 
have  not  had  a  second  interview." 

"  Not  'it  all :  for  though  we  had  a  little  squaUy 
weather  at  first,  Milicent  calmed  down,  and  was 
reasonable,  and  —  weU,  you  know  what  she  can  be 
after  a  quarrel." 

"  Then  of  coarse  things  are  as  they  were  between 
you,"  says  Stephen,  not  sparing  himself. 

"  Not  altogether,"  admits  Urquhart.  "Milicent 
understood,  much  better  than  you  seem  to  do,  that 
our  marriage  will  at  least  bring  me  some  annoy- 
ance, as  well  as  herself.  Not  that  I  believe  she 
thought  of  herself:  women  so  seldom  do  when  they 
are  in  love." 

"  The  more  reason  their  lovers  should  think  first 
of  their  happiness,"  —  rather  curtly. 

"  Exactly,"  returns  Urquhart,  in  the  same  tone. 


282 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  But  unfortunately  Milicent  looked  so  very  pale 
and  weary  that  I  did  not  dare  to  keep  her  longer ; 
so  we  parted  with  the  understanding  that  we  were 
to  meet  next  day.  So  you  see,  Ferguson,  in  any 
case,  I  must  see  her.  You  must  acknowledge  it  is 
better  for  Milicent  to  marry  me ;  and  I  am  wiUing 
to  put  up  with  a  good  deal,  rather  than  lose  her. 
If  she  is  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter,  she  is  by  far  the 
most  lovable  and  bewitching  woman  I  ever  met." 

"  Perhaps,  as  you  think  so  much  of  blood,  the 
Chaudron  stock  is  happier  in  its  females.  Miss 
Ursula  is  certainly  a  most  uncommon  person." 

"  Most  uncommonly  uncomfortable.  I  hope  Mil- 
icent  will  avoid  growing  like  her  aunt,  as  well  as 
like  her  father.  Yet  that  Miss  Ursula  once  loved 
is  not  easily  forgotten,"  —  his  thoughts  reverting 
to  Mr.  Raymond.  "  I  ought  to  be  off,"  he  adds. 
"  Poor  Raymond,  who  is  putting  himself  to  all  kinds 
of  inconvenience  for  my  sake,  must  be  wondering 
what  has  become  of  me." 

Nevertheless,  he  makes  no  movement  to  go  ;  but 
comes  forward,  staring  moodily  into  the  dancing 
firelight.  He  has  not  yet  made  h'  request  of 
Stephen. 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  Urquhart  says  again  present- 
ly, "  the  poor  child  has  very  confused  ideas  of  the 
wrong  she  was  doing  me  in  deceiving  me."  Then, 
apologetically,  "One  must  make  allowances  for  her 
bringing  up,  and  her  surroundings,  as  well  as  for 
her  strong  feelings." 

"  Those  are  a  great  many  allowances  to  make," 
Stephen  remarks,  dryly. 


r 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


283 


»> 


"  I  never  did  think  women  ought  to  be  judged 
by  our  standards.  They  are  far  more  impetuous 
in  their  feelings  than  we ;  and  their  happiness  is 
so  much  in  the  hands  of  other  people,  no  wonder 
they  grow  restive." 

"  Weaker  vessels,  in  other  words." 

"Because  finer  in  their  texture.  I,  for  one, 
would  not  have  them  stronger  and  tougher,"  says 
Urquhart,  lightly. 

"  I  should  not  call  Milly  weak,"  says  Stephen, 
gravely,  as  if  resentful  of  Urquhart's  good-hu- 
mored laugh.  «  She  has  twice  the  strength  of  pur- 
pose that  I  have." 

"It  was  you  who  used  the  word.     What  sur- 
prises me  is  to  find  that  Miss  Ursula,  with  that 
peculiar  spite  common  to  middle-aged  single  wo- 
men, has  told  Milicent   the  whole   story   of   her 
precious  father's  villainy.     And  she  must  have  had 
to  explain  the  full  force  of  his  crimes,  to  make  her 
niece  understand  them ;  for  they  could  never  come 
under  her  observation  in  such  a  community  as  this. 
She  must  have  known  Thomas  the  fisherman  was 
her  father ;  yet  neither  you  nor  I,  who  saw  them 
so  often  together,  ever  suspected  the  relationship." 
"A  heavy  secret  for  so  young  a  heart  to  carry." 
"But  which  she  managed  to   do,"  replies  Ur- 
quhart, the  more  coldly  because  of  Stephen's  low, 
pitying  tone.     "  The  fact  is,  it  would  have  been 
far  better  for  both  of  us  if  Milicent  had  been  less 
Jtrong.     The  oddest  part  of  all  to  me  is  that  in 
all  these  years  you  have  had  no  suspicion  of  this 
Thomas." 


284 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


\ 


"  There  has  been  nothing  more  to  arouse  sus- 
picion in  the  past  years  than  in  the  last  few 
months,  where  your  opportunities  have  been  equal 
if  not  superior  to  mine.  And  if  tliere  had  been, 
I  should  not  have  tried  to  discover  what  both 
Milly  and  Miss  Ursula  desired  to.  keep  secret." 

"  All  right  and  highly  honorable  in  you,  under 
ordinary  circumstances.  But  a  man's  intention 
to  marry  a  girl  makes  a  world  of  difference.  Mili- 
cent  has  told  me  you  were  engaged,"  he  adds  in 
parenthesis,  not  choosing  to  notice  that  Stephen 
winces  under  Milicent's  frankness  to  her  last 
lover.  "Then  I  think  it  not  only  natural,  but 
your  duty,  to  know  all  you  could  of  her." 
^  "  Of  her,  yes,  I  grant  you  that.  Milly  was 
right  to  tell  you  of  me,  for  instance.  But  as  to 
her  family,  that's  another  matter;  for  what  her 
father  is  or  was  does  n't  touch  her." 

"  Does  n't  it,  though  ?  I  only  wish  her  father's 
act  did  n't  touch  her.  Do  you  suppose  Mr.  Chau- 
dron's  daughter  is  not  branded,  only  in  a  lesser 
way,  as  Cain  was  ?  No  hand  will  be  raised  against 
her  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  point  her  out. 
But  she  will  feel  keenly  the  sneers  that  will  be 
flung  at  her." 

"  Are  there  no  right-judging,  charitable  people 
in  your  world  ?  " 

"  Very  few,  I  fancy.  When  I  marry  Milicent, 
all  my  acquaintances  will  consider  me  a  fool ;  my 
friends  will  tell  me  so  ;  and  my  few  relations  will 
treat  me  as  one,"  says  Urquhart,  concisely. 

"  I  am  very  glad  my  list  of  acquaintances  is  so 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


285 


8US- 


small  that  I  do  not  dread  their  criticism  ;  my 
friends  too  far  away  to  express  their  opinion  of 
me ;  and  that  I  have  no  kinsfolk." 

"  All  of  which  advantages  I  did  not  appreciate 
a  week  or  so  ago,"  replies  Urquhart,  coolly ;  and 
then  adds,  relighting  his  cigar,  and  speaking  more 
confidentially  than  before  :  "  Of  course  it  is  a 
thing  a  man  hates  to  talk  about :  but  there  is  no 
use  in  disguising  the  fact  that  there  is  a  deal  that 
is  disagreeable  before  me.  When  Raymond  croaks, 
and  points  out  unpleasantnesses,  it  is  human  na- 
ture to  pretend  to  be  blind.  Nevertheless,  I  see 
much  more  clearly  than  is  at  all  agreeable  to  me." 
"  Then  I  would  not  look,"  says  Stephen,  with 
more  shortness  than  is  natural  to  him. 

"There  is  one  thing  that  I  have  determined 
upon,"  continues  Urquhart,  in  his  desire  to  give 
his  own  opinion  of  the  situation,  rather  than  to 
take  the  opinion  of  others,  "and  that  is,  not  to 
make  a  mystery  of  Milicent's  parentage.  Raymond 
thinks  her  wonderf idly  like  her  father,  —  which  I 
must  say  I  fail  to  see.  I  could  not  bring  a  wife 
back  with  me,  and  people  not  be  curious  to  know 
who  she  was.  I  do  not  say  it  from  vanity :  it  is 
the  question  one  always  hears,  when  a  man  mar- 
ries. So  I  am  determined  to  give  at  once  the  fact 
that  my  wife  is  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter." 

Urquhart  says  this  with  the  pleasing  sensation 
of  unburdening  himself  of  a  well-matured  course 
of  action  ;  while  Stephen  is  listening  to  what  he 

considers  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world, 

that  a  man  should  acknowledge  who  his  wife  was. 


286 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"It  will  be  much  haiJer  on  Milicent  than  on 
me,  I  am  afraid,"  Urquhart  goes  on  to  explain. 
"She  is  not  one  to  overlook  small  impertinences, 
but  will  blaze  up  grandly  at  a  mere  trifle.  It  will 
be  the  women  :  they  being  non-combatants,  you 
cannot  make  them  responsible  for  their  words,  or 
insolent  actions.  If  I  could  only  take  the  poor 
child  abroad,  as  she  expects  me  to  do,  she  would 
have  much  more  peace  and  comfort." 
"  Why  cannot  you  ?  " 

"  Because  of  my  will-be  father-in-law.  For  his 
own  reasons,  he  will  ignore  what  you  call  the 
States ;  but  one  could  never  be  sure  of  not  meeting 
him  ill  Europe,  Asia,  or  Africa." 

"  If  you  did,  I  do  not  see  that  any  harm  could 
come  of  the  meeting." 

"  Some  unpleasantness.  If  Milicent  wishes  to 
help  her  father  in  a  pecuniary  way,  I  shall  never 
object ;  but  I  do  not  intend  that  there  shall  be  any 
other  intercourse  between  them." 
Perhaps  Milly  will  object." 
Object !  when  you  remember  what  her  father 
is,  the  sacrifice  cannot  be  immense  ;  and  I  fancy 
she  would  be  willing  to  make  some  sacrifice  for 
me,"  says  Urquhart,  coldly. 

Stephen  is  not  inclined  to  argue  the  question,  so 
he  changes  the  subject  somewhat  abruptly  by  ask- 
ing, "  Why  did  you  suppose  Milly  coerced  ?  " 

"  When  we  parted,  I  told  her  I  would  certainly 
see  her  again  ;  and  though  she  understood  me  per- 
fectly, she  has  not  been  able  even  to  answer  any  of 
the  notes  I  have  sent  her.      A  further  proof  :  to- 


(( 


(( 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


287 


day,  when  I  went  to  the  house,  Miss  Ursula  told 
me  she  was  out  —  which  is  not  at  all  likely." 

"I   do   not   see   why   Miss   Ursula  should  say 

so  "  —  ^ 

"  Nor  do  I,  unless  upon  the  ground  that  she  did 
not  wish  Milieent  to  meet  me.  Miss  Ursula  does 
not  come  of  such  upright,  honorable  blood  that 
one  shrinks  from  doubting  her." 

"Be  careful,  Urquhart  ! "  exclaims  Stephen, 
sharply.  "If  you  permit  yourself  such  speeches, 
you  may  chance  upon  them  before  Milly,  and 
wound  her  cruelly.  Besides,  you  cannot  blame 
others  for  saying  what  you  say  yourself." 

"  I  admit  that  is  the  worst  feature  in  the  case  : 
for  what  we  resent  as  a  wrong,  our  righteous  in- 
dignation makes  more  bearable.  However,  I  had 
no  intention  to  discuss  this  question ;  but,  instead, 
to  ask  a  service  of  you." 

"Of  me!"  Stephen  shrinks  back  slightly,  as  if 
dreading  a  blow.  "  You  do  not  wish  me  to  be 
best  man,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  am  hardly  the  brute  you  take  me  for,"  says 
Urquhart,  quickly.  «  I  must  see  Milieent ;  and 
I  cannot  get  word  to  her.  Mi.^s  Ursula  is  not 
afraid  of  you,  and  I  want  you  to  take  a  message  to 
Milieent.  Nothing  written;  only  a  few  words. 
When  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  I  suppose.  It  is  too  late  to-night," 
Stephen  adds  more  cheerfully,  as  if  glad  of  the 
respite. 

"  Will  you  remind  Milieent  that  winter  is  near 
at  hand,  and  that  we  have  very  little  time  to  lose? 


T 


288 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


\ 


And,  Stephen,  pray  be  particular  to  impress  upon 
her  that  our  not  Heeing  each  other  has  not  been  my 
fault.  That  I  even  braved  the  dragon  in  her  den, 
and  went  boldly  to  the  house." 

"  I  ean't  understand,  if  Mllly  still  intends  to 
marry  you,  why  there  should  be  any  difficulty 
about  your  seeing  her,"  says  Stephen,  with  that 
persistency  of  unbelief  which  is  so  irritating. 

"  That  is  because  you  absolve  Miss  Ursula  of 
all  interference.  There  is  not  the  slightest  diffi- 
culty between  Milicent  and  myself.  There  was,  as 
I  said,  at  first ;  and  we  even  went  to  the  absurd 
extreme  of  saying  good-by.  But  we  made  it  up 
betv^een  us." 

Urquhart  has  risen  to  go,  and  is  standing  with 
his  back  to  the  fire.  He  does  not  explain  to  Ste- 
phen the  process  of  "  making  it  up  ;  "  but  it  seems 
to  him  that  the  child,  with  her  pale,  upturned  face, 
is  once  more  in  his  arms. 

Many  a  time  afterwards  in  his  life  he  holds  her 
thus  again ;  but  the  sweet  face  is  never  a  shade 
older,  nor  less  pale. 


T 


XVI. 


"Oh,  I  liavo  flro  within  — 
But  (III  my  will  there  IiiMh  tlie  rliillhi^;  niiow 
<)(  tliouKlitH  that  coino  UH  Hiihtly  iM  Hiift  Hiilo'H, 
Yut  press  at  laHt  with  hard  and  icy  weight." 

Last  niglit,  wl»on  Urquhart  loft  him,  Stephen 
Hjit  a  long  while  over  his  fire,  —  thinking,  thinking. 
Urquhart's  love  was  so  much  more  selfish  th  .1  his 
own,  that  it  was  diffieult  for  Stephen  to  believe  it 
deep  and  lasting.  And  if  it  was  not  ?  If  Milicent 
believed  it  was  not,  would  it  be  well  to  urge  her  to 
test  it  once  more  ? 

But  when  the  fire  had  died  entirely  out,  and  the 
new  day  began  to  dawn,  chilly  and  bleak,  and  he 
went  up-stairs  to  try  to  get  an  hour  or  two  of 
sleep,  he  had  determined  to  go  to  Miss  Ursula's, 
and  give  Milicent  Urquhart's  message.  For  a 
great  dread  had  come  to  hira,  that  perhaps  the 
poor  child  thought  Urquhart  had  deserted  her,  and 
that  she  was  left  alone  to  bear  the  bitter  fruits 
of  her  father's  sin.  If  the  rest  of  her  life  were 
a  long  regret,  for  which  he,  Stephen,  no  matter 
with  what  good  intention,  was  responsible  — 

No,  that  he  will  not  bear  ;  and  so  the  early 
morning  finds  him  walking  over  to  Miss  Ursula's. 

There  is  nothing  unusual  about  the  house.  Miss 
Ursula,  always  an  early  riser,  is  busy  getting  break- 

19 


! 


290 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


fast  ready ;  and  she  tells  him,  as  she  has  dozens  of 
times  in  his  life,  that  Milicent  has  not  come  down- 
stairs yet,  but  that  if  he  will  wait  in  the  parlor, 
she  will  tell  her  he  is  there.  There  seems  nothing 
like  harshness  nor  coercion  on  Miss  Ursula's  part 
towtjvds  Milicent ;  and  as  Stephen  sits  in  the  great 
bare  room,  his  doubts  of  Urquhart's  inferences 
strengthen. 

Milicent  is  not  long  in  coming  to  him. 

Stephen  is  greatly  shocked  to  see  the  change  so 
few  days  have  made  in  her  appear-uice.  It  is 
more  than  a  hint  of  the  struggle  sha  has  gone 
through. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Milly  ?  "  asks  Stephen,  coming  for- 
ward and  taking  the  hand  she  holds  o^'^  to  him. 

"Yes,"  she  answers,  with  hesitation.  "That 
is,  I  sujjpose  I  am.  I  don't  sleep,  and  I  am  ^lore 
restless  than  I  need  be.  Yesterday  I  could  no 
longer  be  in  the  house,  and  walked  out  on  the 
cliffs.  But  it  did  not  help  me  in  the  least,"  she 
adds,  with  a  weary  little  sigh. 

"  Then  you  were  really  out  when  Urquhart 
called." 

"Yes.  Did  he  think  we  had  put  on  grand, 
worldly  ways,  and  told  falsehoods  if  we  did  not 
wish  to  see  him  ?"  asks  Milicent,  unconsciously  t3 
herself  showing  an  interest  as  soon  as  Urquhart  s 
name  is  mentioned. 

"  He  thought  perhaps  Miss  Ursula  did  not  wish 
him  to  see  you.  He  never  doubted  your  truth, 
Milly,"  Stephen  hastens  to  assure  her. 

"  Why  should  Aunt  Ursula  have  cared  ?  But  I 
would  not  have  seen  him,  if  I  had  been  at  home." 


>^  ■ 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


291 


"  He  is  very  anxious  to  speak  to  you  "  —  begins 
Stephen. 

"  Did  he  send  you  to  tell  me  so  ?  " 

"Yes.  Yo".  do  not  mind  my  coming?"  asks 
Stephen,  deprecatingly. 

"Oh,  no.  J  am  glad  you  came,  no  matter  for 
what  purpose.  I  thought  he  had  seen  it  is  best  to 
go  away,"  she  adds,  in  a  voice  far  from  steady. 

"  You  did  not  think  it  would  be  so  easy  for  Ur- 
quhart  to  go  away;  for  you  know,  Milly,  that 
is  the  same  as  giving  you  up." 

"  But  he  knew  I  had  said  good-by  to  him.  He 
could  not  have  thought  I  meant  it  for  anything 
but  that,"  says  Milicent  sharply,  a  flush  mount- 
ing into  her  cheeks,  and  then  suffusing  her  whole 
face. 

"Meant  what,  Milly?"  asks  Stephen,  bewil- 
dered, and  then  regretting  his  question. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answers,  with  a  face  as  pale  as  a 
moment  ago  it  was  crimson.  "  Only,  Stephen,  he 
must  go.  Cannot  you  warn  him  if  he  lingers  he 
will  be  weather-bound  ?  You  must  frighten  him 
with  the  winter  storms,  which  you  know  are  often 
terrible.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  him  here  in  the 
winter;  you  must  not  let  him  stay,"  she  adds 
sharply  and  impatiently,  as  if  the  very  thought 
were  unendurable. 

"He  knows  all  about  the  storms,  and  the  peril 
of  lingering,  Milly.  He  wants  you  to  marry  him 
at  once,  and  go  away  with  him." 

"But  you  do  not  tell  me  to  go?  That  is  not 
your  advice  ?  "  she  asks  auicklv. 


292 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"  I  can  but  think  of  your  happiness  first,  Milly. 
And  so  I  beseech  you  to  be  careful  how  you  de- 
cide :  it  i»  not  only  for  now,  but  for  always.  If 
you  regret  it,  dear,  no  matter  which  way,  there  is 
no  turning  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left." 

Stephen  speaks  gently,  but  firmly  and  with  em- 
phasis, as  if  he  would  have  his  words  make  all  the 
impression  they  are  capable  of. 

"  I  know,"  she  says  slowly.  "  If  I  went  with 
him,  and  he  tired  of  me,  what  then  ?  " 

Milicent  has  slipped  down  into  a  chair  by  the 
table,  near  which  she  was  standing;  and  resting 
her  elbows  upon  it,  she  shades  her  eyes  with  her 
hands :  though  indeed  she  is  really  watching  Ste- 
phen's face,  as  she  propounds  her  difficult  question. 

"  You  have  no  cause  to  distrust  Urquhart,  Milly." 

"  I  do  not  distrust  him :  at  least  not  in  the  way 
you  mean.  I  know  he  will  be  sorry  to  give  me  up  ; 
and  if  he  married  me,  he  would  be  kind,  and  try 
to  make  me  happy.  Do  you  not  think,  Stephen," 
she  goes  on  to  say,  no  longer  shading  her  eyes 
from  him,  but  making  a  frame  for  her  face  with 
her  two  hands,  ""that  if  one  feels  perfectly  sure 
that  by  doing  a  certain  act,  one  would  wrong  an- 
other, it  is  God  Himself  who  has  given  the  fore- 
knowledge, to  keep  one  from  the  act?  And  is  it 
not  selfish,  as  well  as  wicked,  to  do  what  you  like, 
or  some  one  urges  you  to  do,  when  you  are  confi- 
dent that  in  the  end  it  will  bring  trouble  ?  " 

Milicent  asks  these  questions  eagerly ;  so  eagerly, 
that  it  is  plainly  to  be  seen  she  has  long  ago  given 
herself  the  task  of  answering  them. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


293 


"  Of  course  one  ought  not  to  be  selfish,"  Stephen 
replies,  gently  and  gravely.  «  But,  MiUy,  unselfish 
people  very  often  unwittingly  sacrifice  others  un- 
necessarily and  cruelly.  It  is  not  only  wicked 
people,  who  do  wrong ;  but  often  those  who  are 
anxious  to  do  their  best." 

"  But  he  told  me  just  how  it  would  be.     How 
people  would  sneer  at  him  and  think  slightingly 
of  him,  on  my  account.     And,"  she  adds,  her  eyes 
contracting  as  if  in  pain,  '- 1  have  no  right  to  his 
love,  for  I  never  gained  it  fairly.    If  from  the  first 
he  had  known  who  my  father  is,  he  would  have 
taken  care  not  to  fall  in  love  with  me.    Even  when 
there  seemed  nothing  against  me  but  my  poverty 
and  my  not  being  exactly  what  he  called  a  lady, 
his  friend  came   all  this   distance  to  remonstrate 
against  his  folly ;  and  I  think  this  Mr.  Raymond 
is  a  little  glad  to  find  an  acquaintance  in  my  fa- 
ther, to  add  more  to  break  what  he  and  his  kind 
consider  an  unfortunate  affair.     Ah,  Stephen,  you 
and  I  know  nothing  of   the  world,  —  his  world. 
We  know  where  the  sun  rises  and  sets,  and  the 
wind   blows   from.      We   understand   the   fishing 
seasons,  and  when  our  village  is  pinched  or  com- 
fortable.    But  neither  you  nor  I  quite  understand 
why  the  daughter  of  my  father  would  bring  shame 
to  the  man  who  loves  her ;  and  why  good,  honest 
gentlemen  who  live  in  the  world  frown  upon  her. 
And  yet  it  is  all  an  indubitable  fact." 

Stephen  stands  looking  uneasily  at  Milicent, 
who  speaks  with  flushed  face,  and  a  ring  of  bit- 
terness and  wrong  in  her  voice.  But  both  color 
and  bitterness  die  out  before  she  ends. 


1    :!: 


294 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


He  finds  it  impossible  to  answer  her  at  once; 
for  he  recalls  much  that  Urquhart  said  about  the 
sacrifice  he  would  make  in  marrying  Milicent,  — 
a  sacrifice,  at  least,  in  the  eyes  of  his  friends. 

Milicent  detects  his  hesitation,  and  adds  quickly : 

"  You  must  not  judge  hardly  of  him,  because,  in- 
deed, you  do  not  comprehend  him.  I  too  thought 
him  cruel  at  first ;  and  that  he  was  making  more 
of  even  my  own  wrong-doing,  than  there  was  any 
necessity  for.  Of  course,  when  he  was  angry  he 
naturally  said  more  than  he  intended  to.  But," 
—  this  with  a  quivering  little  smile  that  seems 
on  the  verge  of  tears,  —  "  there  are  true  words 
spoken  in  anger,  as  well  as  in  jest.  I  am  con- 
vinced, now,  that  it  would  have  been  unbearable 
to  me  to  marry  and  then  to  discover  that  a  heavy 
sacrifice  had  been  made  for  me.  Indeed,"  —  with 
a  flash  of  her  own  willful  self,  —  "I  would  have 
died  of  it.     It  is  better  to  part  at  once." 

"  But  you  have  not  entirely  decided  I  "  exclaims 
Stephen,  somewhat  startled  to  find  she  has  come 
to  a  definite  decision. 

"  Yes.  I  am  quite  determined.  Do  not  think  I 
have  been  hasty.  It  was  not  so  easy  to  see  at  first 
what  was  best  for  both  of  us,  because  he  wished  it 
different.  But  his  friend  wrote  to  me.  Don't 
mention  it,  Stephen.  It  was  not  an  unkind  letter  ; 
only  it  showed  me  I  could  do  him  little  or  no  good, 
and  very  much  harm." 

"  Milly,  no  one  but  Urquhart  has  a  right  to 
show  you  that.  I  would  not  permit  any  one  to 
meddle  with  me  in  that  manner ;  and  I  am  certain 
Urquhart  would  not." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


295 


to 


"  I  told  you  he  knew  nothing  of  the  letter,  and 
he  must  not,"  says  Milicent,  a  little  impatiently. 
"And  after  all,  Mr.  Raymond's  words  were  not 
very  different  from  his  own,  when  he  was  angry 
with  me.  I  have  no  wish  that  his  friends  should 
say  he  did  a  foolish  thing  when  he  married  me." 

"  They  will  not,  when  they  know  you,"  answers 
Stephen  promptly. 

"  He  is  not  so  sure  as  you  are,  and  Mr.  Raymond 
thinks  differently.  Stephen,  it  is  not  like  you 
to  persuade  me  to  turn  away  from  a  good  resolu- 
tion." 

"  I  wish  you  to  be  very  sure  it  is  a  good  one,  be- 
fore you  act  upon  it,  Milly." 

"I  am  very  sure.  There  is  a  stronger  Hand 
than  mine  steering  the  boat.  Let  us  trust  to  a 
safe  guidance." 

Stephen  turns  away,  and  walks  to  one  of  the 
many  windows.  He  must  find  another  argument ; 
and  there  comes  no  suggestion  from  the  sullen  sea, 
and  no  less  sullen  sky  above  it. 

In  a  little  while  he  returns  to  the  table,  at 
which  the  girl  is  still  sitting. 

"  I  must  take  Urquhart  some  message,  Milly. 
He  trusts  so  much  in  seeing  you  again.  Will  you 
not  speak  to  him,  even  for  a  few  minutes  ?  " 

She  shakes  her  head;  and  there  is  a  pause  of 
utter  silence  between  them. 

Then  her  words  come,  very  slowly : 

"  Tell  him  that  it  is  far  better  for  us  both  not 
to  meet  ^guh.  That  I  thought  he  understood  our 
parting  on  the  cliffs  was  to  be  our  final  one.  or  — 

/     -  — 


296 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


or  I  would  never  have  been  so  bold.  And  Stephen," 
—  more  quickly  —  "  take  care  thai  he  does  not  go 
away  thinking  me  so  very  lonely  and  unhappy  as  I 
must  be :  it  will  do  him  harm  to  feel  too  sorry  for 
me.  And  for  myself,  it  will  do  me  no  good,  and  I 
do  not  wish  it." 

She  buries  her  face  in  her  arms  folded  upon  the 
table.  Stephen  stoops,  and  gently  kisses  the  warm 
brown  hair :  kisses  it  as  he  has  many  a  time  when 
he  wished  to  comfort  her  in  some  burst  of  childish 
sorrow. 

Milicent  looks  iip  at  once. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  are  not  going  away  too, 
Steph'  n.  You  will  not  forget  your  promise  to  help 
me  in  my  need?" 

"  You  may  always  be  sure  of  ay  help,"  Stephen 
says  quietly. 

He  recalls  the  day  he  made  Milicent  the  prom- 
ise. He  wonders,  had  he  then  withheld  his  sanc- 
tion to  her  engagement  with  Urquhart,  if  it  would 
not  have  been  better  for  her  ?  She  has  since  con- 
fessed that  she  did  not  then  care  very  much  for  her 
new  lover  ;  only  she  was  weary  and  impatient  of  her 
life  with  Miss  Ursula,  —  the  life  Stephen  had  been 
so  blind  to,  in  the  great,  windy  house.  Now  that 
he  has  the  key  to  her  unhappiness,  he  wonders 
why  he  needed  it  to  unlock  what  he  had  never 
thought  a  mystery. 

Milicent  seems  to  have  nothing  more  to  say ;  and 
again  her  head  sinks  down  upon  the  table.  Stephen 
stands  and  watches  her  a  moment  or  two;  then  goes 
softly  out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  after  him. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


297 


He  does  not  go  towards  the  viUage,  where  he  is 
sure  Urquhart  is  waiting  for  him.  He  walks  in 
quite  a  contrary  direction.  He  must  gain  his 
wonted  calmness,  before  he  gives  Milicent's  mes- 
sage. 


I 


XVII. 


"  The  sea  of  ill,  for  wldcii  the  universe, 
With  all  its  piled  space,  can  find  no  shore  — 
.     .     .     the  billowy  griefs  come  up  to  drown." 

Stephen  is  some  time  in  gaining  his  composure ; 
it  is  fully  an  hour  later,  before  he  goes  to  the  vil- 
lage in  quest  of  Urquhart,  who,  evidently  on  the 
watch,  meets  him  not  very  far  from  his  lodgings^ 

"You  have  seen  Milicent?"  Urquhart  asks  at 
once,  heedless  of  any  other  greeting. 

"  Yes.  She  was  really  out  yesterday.  It  was 
no  subterfuge  of  Miss  Ursula's." 

"  Where  will  she  see  me  ?  I  hope  she  has  not 
named  the  house ;  it  would  be  worse  than  awkward 
to  meet  Mr.  Chaudron.  I  should  have  told  you 
to  suggest  the  beach,  or  somewhere  else  out  of 
doors,"  says  Urquhart,  impatient  at  his  own  want 
of  thought. 

"  It  does  not  make  the  smallest  difference  "  — 
begins  Stephen,  dryly. 

"Not  to  you.  But  then  you  are  not  about  to 
marry  the  fellow's  daughter,  so  you  have  only  to  be 
coolly  civil.  I  shall  find  it  deucedly  awkward  to 
meet  my  future  father-in-law." 

"  Milly  thinks  it  best  that  all  should  be  over  be- 
tween you,"  says  Stephen,  not  finding  it  as  embar- 
rassing to  speak  as  he  had  feared,  or  as  if  Urquhart 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


299 


had  taken  a  different  view  of  his  position.     And 
fetephen,  as  gently  as  he  can,  gives  Milicent's  mes- 


sage. 


What  nonsense  !  "  exclaims  Urquhart,  sharply. 
He  IS  bitterly  disappointed,  and  has  misgivings  as 
to  the  loyalty  of  his  messenger.  "  Has  Milicent 
no  Idea  that  I  am  suffering,  as  well  as  she  ■?  If  I 
could  only  get  at  her,  I  could  soon  persuade  her 
that  It  IS  best,  for  both  of  us,  not  to  part.  I  did 
think  for  Milicent's  sake,  you  would  have  helped 
me  a  little,"  he  adds,  reproachfuUy. 

"  I  did  all  I  possibly  could,  —  for  her  sake,  as 
you  say,    replies  Stephen,  quietly. 

"  She  has  gotten  into  her  head  that  it  would  be 
better  for  me  to  lose  her  than  to  have  her.  It  can't 
be  that  you  repeated  to  her  any  of  the  nonsense  I 
said  last  night,"  exclaims  Urquhart,  stopping  shoii; 
in  his  walk,  and  looking  suspiciously  at  Stephen. 

"I  repeated  nothing.  But  I  doubt  whether  you 
were  as  judicious  ;  for  she  said  some  of  your  own 
words  to  her  made  her  see  that  it  would  be  better 
for  you  not  to  marry  her.  She  did  not  seem  to 
blame  you  in  the  least." 

"  It  is  hard  to  have  the  words  we  say  in  an^er 
brought  up  against  us,"  Urquhart  says,  bitterly; 
theii  adds,  tenderly:  "If  I  could  only  see  the  poor 
chdd,  and  could  judge  for  myself  how  much  she  is 
suffering.  I  shall  be  forever  tormented  with  fears 
It  I  do  not  see  her.  Poor  little  Milicent !  How 
shaU  I  ever  be  sure  she  is  not  breaking  her  heart ! 
How  IS  she  looking,  Stephen  ?  " 
.     "  She  is  verv  pale,  and  sa^^«  «h"  '^— ^  oi-^»s 


800 


PHOT  FOHTUNi:. 


well.  That  was  her  reason  for  going  out  yester- 
day.    But  her  walk  was  not  of  much  service." 

"  That  I  should  hav(»  had  such  bad  luck  as  not 
to  meet  her,  though  I  walked  in  every  direction  ! 
No  wonder  I  believed  that  old  witch,  Miss  Ursula, 
had  misled  me.  But  see  her  I  must.  I  will  write 
to  her.  Perhaps  I  can  manage  to  say  more  to  per- 
suade her,  even  on  a  bit  of  paper,  than  by  another 
man's  lips,  eloquent  though  they  be,"  adds  Ur- 
quhart,  sarcastically. 

To  this  Stephen  cares  to  make  no  answer ;  and 
Uiquhart  strides  off  to  his  lodgings,  to  write  the 
note  that  is  to  have  more  influence  than  Stephen 
has  oter  Milicent.  A  note  which,  if  he  can  only 
get  duly  delivered,  he  has  no  fears  of  finding  fruit- 
less. It  is  such  a  small  thing  he  asks  for,  —  only 
that  she  would  see  him  again.  Another  farewell,  or 
a  promise  never  to  part  from  him.  He  is  not  afraid 
of  her  decision,  if  he  can  but  speak  with  her. 

Urquhart's  note  is  diplomatic,  in  so  far  as  that 
it  dwells  on  his  own  feelings  rather  than  on  Mil- 
icent's,  thereby  hoping  to  touch  her  pity.  It  is  his 
last  request.  Not  such  a  great  one  ;  only  to  see 
him  for  the  briefest  moment.  If  she  sends  him 
away  then,  he  will  not  say  a  word,  but  silently  do 
her  bidding. 

He  walks  over  to  the  house  with  his  messenger, 
to  be  sure  of  no  delay,  and  stands  at  the  gate, 
watching  his  progress  to  the  house.  Indeed,  he 
even  waits  until  the  boy  returns,  and  reports  the 
note  given  into  the  hands  of  Miss  Ursula,  who 
promised  to  deliver  it  at  once. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


301 


So  there  could  be  nothing  more  for  Urquhart  to 
do,  but  to  return  to  his  lodgings,  and  feed  his  ex- 
pectation on  the  peppery  diet  of  impatience  and 
disappointment,  as  every  sound  of   an   approach- 
ing footstep  i)romises  a  note  from  Milicent,  which 
never  comes.     The  only  relief  ho  has  is  in  smok- 
ing, and  talking  to  Mr.  Raymond,  who  proves  a 
good  listener,  only  now  and  then  dropping  some 
covert  remark  upon  tlie  wisdom  of  society  in  keep- 
ing  such   men   as   Chaudron   in  the  background, 
with  a  r    niniscence  of  the  excitement  the   great 
banker's  fall  made  when  it  was  discovered.     But 
Urquhart  is  restive  under  all  such  attacks ;  which 
makes   his   friend   think   him   as  sensitive  as   he 
wishes  him  to  be.    Indeed,  Mr.  Raymond  has  good 
hopes  of  his  quondam  ward,  if  he  can  only  get  him 
away  at  once. 

Mr.  Raymond  is  watching  the  whole  proceeding 
with   curiosity,  as  well   as  with   anxiety.     He   is 
fearful  that  this  daughter  of  Chaudron's  may  not 
be  able  to  hold  out.     She   is  trying  to  do  well; 
and   if   Urquhart  would   only  let   her  alone,  she 
might  succeed;  but  it  isn't  in  her  sex  to  be  so  very 
strong  of  purpose.     Possibly  he  forgets  that  Mil- 
icent is  Miss  Ursula's  niece.     Perhaps  —  for  time 
does  dull  the   past,   almost  to  obliteration,  with 
some   minds  — he   thinks   of   himself   as  more  of 
an  actor  in  those  few  painful  scenes  in  his  life 
than  he  actually  was  ;  and  draws  comparisons  as 
to  the  strength  of  his  own  will,  and  the   shilly- 
shally weakness  of  poor  Urquhart's. 

And  so  the  hours  go  by.     The  morrow's  sun  is 


802 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


glintinc?  on  Grand  PaHHajjo  ;  two  or  three  lap^gards 
of  liHhing-boats  are  Hkininiinjj^  towards  the  Fundy 
entrance  of  the  harbor ;  and  Mr.  Kaymond,  who 
stands  watching  them  from  between  the  tall  gera- 
niums in  Mrs.  Featherstone's  bow-window,  is  se- 
cretly regretting  that  this  favorable  wind  to  St. 
John  should  be  a  sheer  waste,  so  far  as  the  Undine 
is  concerned.  Why  should  this  girl  keep  his  ])oor 
friend  so  long  on  the  tenter-hooks  of  indecision  ? 

His  poor  friend  is  walking  restlessly  about  the 
small  parlor,  where  the  breakfast-table  still  stands 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  bearing  witness  to  his 
preoccupation,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Kaymond's  calm, 
untroubled  appetite.  The  door  opens  unheeded 
by  either:  until,  instead  of  Mrs.  Featherstone, 
entering  to  remove  the  cloth,  the  shock-head  of 
the  landlady's  youngest  child  is  thrust  in,  with 
the  announcement  that  "somebody's  coming  to 
speak  to  them." 

Urquhart  starts  forward  eagerly :  Milicent  has 
come  to  him.  He  forgets  the  awkwardness  of 
such  a  visit  with  Mr.  Raymond  as  witness.  He 
has  only  the  delicious  feeling  that  he  is  to  see  her 
again,  and  that  he  has  conquered. 

Mr.  Raymond,  who  has  made  no  such  flight  of 
the  imagination  as  to  suppose  thai  Mil'cent  is 
here,  is  surprised,  when,  as  soon  '^.Ituoiit  an  she  is 
announced,  Miss  Ursula  stands  in  the  doorway. 
Her  entrance  might  have  been  awkward  to  a  guest 
who  looked  for  a  welcome ;  but  Miss  Ursula  has 
1.0  '5ueh  desire,  and  coldly  refuses  the  chair  which 
I' .q'^^iirt  tardily  bethinks  himself  of  offering. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


808 


b  has 

88  of 

He 

)  her 


"  I  shall  not  detain  you  a  moment,"  she  says, 
turning  to  Mr.  Kaymoncl  rather  than  to  Urquhart, 
who  nev<   theloHs  asks  hastily  :  — 

"  Is  it  about  Milicent  ?  " 

"  Not  directly.  Though  of  course  it  will  affect 
her." 

She  almost  turno  her  back  on  Urquhart  after 
givmg  him  this  small  bit  of  satisfaction,  and  takes 
a  step  or  two  towards  Mr.  Raymond. 

"Is  it  with  me  you  wish  to  speak?"  he  asks, 
with  ill-concealed  agitation.  "  Do  you  wish  to  see 
me  privately  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  A  witness  is  rather  to  be  de- 
sired, since  I  have  come  to  ask  a  favor." 
^^  "  Times  have  changed,"  Mr.  Raymond  says. 
"  I  remember  hearing  you  say  once,  Ursula  Chau- 
dron  would  never  stoop  to  ask  anything  of  me. 
Rash  vows  are  brittle  things." 

It  is  an  ungenerous  reminder,  which  perhaps 
escapes  him  unwittingly ;  or  her  reference  to  a 
witness  may  have  provoked  it. 

But  Miss  Ursula  does  not  appear  to  care  in  the 
least.  That  straight,  angular  figure,  with  the  nun- 
hke  black  falling  in  stiff  folds  about  her,  would 
never  hint  to  a  stranger  of  a  past  less  cold  and 
rigid  and  precise,  of  luxurious  surroundings,  the 
brilliant  setting  to  the  picture  of  a  young  Ursula 
Chaudron.  And  yet  it  is  that  picture  at  which 
Mr.  Raymond  is  looking,  with  a  bewildering  light 
m  his  eyes,  though  he  stands  in  the  window  with 
his  back  to  the  sunshine  which  streams  in  on  her. 
There  is  no  apparition  out  of  the  past,  it  seems 


304 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


to  ^ler,  in  the  fine  and  somewhat  portly  presence 
opposite ;  the  voice  in  which  she  answers  is  calm 
and  unflnttered,  not  that  of  a  ghost-seer  :  — 

"All  vows  are  worth  the  keeping  wiiole  that 
are  worth  the  making,"  she  says.  "  I  at  least  keep 
n^'ne  to  the  letter.  The  favor  I  spoke  of  is  not 
for  me,  but  for  another." 

Urquhart  at  once  supposes  she  means  Mili- 
cent,  and  eagerly  draws  a  little  near  her ;  while 
Mr.  Raymond,  who  has  recovered  his  nerve,  says, 
blandly :  "  I  would  much  prefer  that  the  favor,  ii 
indeec^  -t  is  one,  had  been  for  yourself.  Though 
I  will  gladly  be  of  service  to  any  one  in  whom  you 
are  interested." 

"  You  have  most  unexpectedly  discovered  —  our 
home,  I  was  going  to  call  it  —  our  hiding-place," 
Miss  Ursula  goes  on  to  say,  not  heeding  his  polite- 
ness. "  Of  course  it  can  no  longer  be  one  to  us ; 
and  what  I  request  is  for  my  brother's  safety.  It 
is  not  so  very  much,"  she  adds,  smiling  sarcastically 
at  Mr.  Raymond's  eagerness.  "  I  only  wish  you 
not  to  mention,  for  the  next  two  weeks,  whom  you 
have  met  here.  Two  weeks  of  silence  are  not  very 
much  to  ask  of  a  man.  There  is  a  su^Dcrstition 
that  to  a  woman  it  would  be  onerous." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  turned  into  an  old  gos- 
sip ?  "  Mr.  Raymonc'  is  smiling,  though  angry  at 
heart.  "  Why  do  you  not  ask  Urquhart  there  the 
same  remarkable  ittvor  ?  " 

"  He  will  be  silent  on  his  own  account.  A  love- 
affair  with  Mr.  Chaudron's  daughter  is  enough  to 
keep  him  dumb." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


305 


"  We  wiU  both  be  dumb,  if  you  so  desire.  You 
need  not  leave  here  o.a  our  account,"  replies  Mr. 
Raymond,  decidedly  curtly. 

"  Of  our  movements  you  are  not  perhaps  a  very 
good  judge,"  answers  Miss  Ursula,  coldly.  "  Your 
visit  here  lias  excited  the  curiosity  of  the  village 
people,  and  curiosity  is  a  sharp  wedge  for  forcing 
a  secret.  Prudence  is  a  wise  protector,  and  cer- 
tainly points  to  our  leaving." 

"Where  will  you  go,  Ursula?"  asks  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, with  a  strange  blending  of  interest  and 
curiosity. 

"  To  Europe,"  she  answers,  without  hesitation. 
"  One  is  more  easily  lost  in  a  crowd  than  in  a 
desert." 

"And  when?" 

"  To-morrow,  if  possible." 

"  It  will  be  much  safer  for  —  for  Louis.  Ursula, 
if  I  can  lielp  you,  — advance  you  any  money,  for 
instance,  —  I  will  gladly  do  so.  These  sudden 
moves  are  often  difficult  to  compass,"  he  adds, 
without  explaining  that  the  convenient  money  was 
to  have  been  used  to  buy  off  Milicent. 

"  Thank  you,"  says  Miss  Ursula,  with  studied 
politeness.  "  I  have  long  learned  always  to  have 
a  sum  of  money  ready  by  me  in  case  of  an  emer- 
gency. AH  I  wanted  was  your  word  pledged  for 
a  two  weeks'  grace." 

"  For  a  year,  or  forever." 

"  Two  weeks  are  aU-sufficient.  I  have  no  desire 
to  hamper  your  conscience." 

But  a  f-eat  desire  to   wound  me  bv  an   in- 

20  ^ 


306 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


nuendo,"  answers  Mr.  Raymond,  sharply.  "  Your 
brother  is  as  safe  with  me  as  with  you." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  my  brother,  but  of  Mrs. 
Raymond,  who  might  feel  aggrieved  if  she  did  not 
know  some  time  or  other  that  you  have  seen  us. 
Will  you  tell  her,  in  a  fortnight's  time,  that  you 
saw  Ursula  Chaudron,  and  that  she  has  grown  into 
quite  an  old  woman  ?  " 

"  But  in  many  things  unchanged,"  he  says,  with 


a  meaning  smile. 


"  In  more  than  you  think.  Time  is  a  great  dis- 
peller  of  illusions.  I  must  thank  you  for  giving 
me  what  I  came  to  ask  for.  I  am  too  young  a 
beggar  to  have  learned  the  trick  of  calling  down 
blessings  from  Heaven  for  a  dole." 

Miss  Ursula  has  turned  to  leave  the  room,  when 
Urquhart  stops  her.  "Does  Miiicent  intend  to 
go  to  Europe  with  you  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Certainly.     What  else  could  she  do  ?  " 

"  Several  other  things,  I  should  think,"  an- 
swers Urquhart,  bitterly.  "At  least  she  might 
have  hinted  her  plans,  instead  of  keeping  me  here, 
waiting  her  pleasure." 

"  I  thought  there  was  nothing  between  you  now  ? 
I  heard  her  tell  her  father  so,"  returns  Miss  Ur- 
sula, in  surprise. 

"She  might  have  answered  my  letter,  at  any 
rate,  '  Urquhart  says,  deeply  hurt. 

"  Ah,  so  she  did  ;  but  she  came  very  near  being 
unfortunate  in  her  messenger.  She  is  nearer  right 
in  parting  with  you  than  you  think,"  adds  Miss 
Ursula,  almost  gently.     "  She  is  not  fitted  for  your 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


807 


life ;  and,  believe  an  old  woman's  experience,  you 
will  get  over  this  disappointment." 

Urqiihart  smiles  as  he  takes  the  note  she  hands 
him.  "  You  will  pardon  me  if  I  prefer  not  to 
make  the  trial  you  advise.  And  you  will  also 
pardon  Milicent  if  she  does  not  go  abroad  with 
you." 

For  has  he  not  Milicent's  consent  to  see  him,  in 
his  hand  ?  It  would  be  hard  indeed,  if  he  could 
not  persuade  her  to  make  a  different  arrangement. 

Miss  Ursula  does  not  answer  him  :  she  seems 
in  haste  to  go. 

Mr.  Raymond  follows  her  to  the  front-door  of 
the  cottage.  He  would  willingly  detain  her  for  a 
longer  parting.  It  is  scarcely  possible  that  they 
will  ever  meet  again ;  and  he  feels  inclined  to 
linger  over  the  farewell. 

But  Miss  Ursula  is  in  haste,  and  walks  away 
with  swift,  firm  steps.  "  Poor  Ursula !  "  Mr. 
Raymond  says,  pityingly,  as  he  stands  watching 
her.  "  If  she  could  only  walk  over  people  as  she 
does  over  the  road,  she  would  be  satisfied." 

Urquhart  has  time  to  read  Milicent's  note  while 
Mr.  Raymond  is  politely  seeing  Miss  Ursula  out  of 
the  house. 

It  is  a  poor  little  note ;  so  very  short,  that  he 
reads  it  over  two  or  three  times  in  the  few  min- 
utes of  Mr.  Raymond's  absence. 

Two  or  three  times;  not  because  it  is  hard  to 
understand,  but  because  he  had  expected  a  conclu- 
sion so  different. 

He  is  dull  in  takinoi"  in  the  fact  that  she  refuses 


308 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


to  see  him.  It  would  do  neither  of  them  any  good, 
she  says,  as  their  parting  is  inevitable.  It  would 
be  only  a  grief  to  her  to  see  him  again ;  and  he 
had  better  go  away  at  once. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  persecute  her,"  Urquhart 
tells  himself,  bitterly.  "  If  she  wishes  me  to  go, 
I  will." 

There  is  no  sign  of  weakness  in  that  poor  little 
note,  in  his  eyes.  It  never  hints  to  him  that  Mil- 
ieent  is  afraid  to  see  him.  There  are  some  soldiers, 
it  is  said,  who  do  not  know  when  they  are  whipped ; 
and  there  are  others,  who  cannot  tell  when  they 
are  conquerors. 

Urquhart  has  turned  his  back  to  the  door,  and 
is  looking  out  of  the  vdndow,  when  Mr.  Raymond 
comes  in.  "  We  had  better  sail  by  dawn  to-mor- 
row, if  this  wind  holds  out,"  Urquhart  says,  with- 
out turning  round. 

Stephen  is  on  the  pier  when  the  Undine  is  ready 
to  sail. 

"Tell  her  you  saw  me  off,"  says  Urquhart,  as 
they  shake  hands  at  jjarting.  "  It  was  a  sweeter, 
fairer  dream,  than  I  ever  imagined  ;  but  scarcely 
paid  for  such  a  rough  awaking.  After  all,  Mil- 
icent  is  to  have  her  wish,  and  live  abroad ;  but  she 
will  scarcely  have  the  life  there,  which  I  intended 
she  should  have." 

"  Live  abroad  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  asks  Ste- 
phen, sharply. 

"  Have  n't  you  heard  ?  Miss  Ursula  told  me, 
yesterday-,  that  they  are  going  to  liide  themselves 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


309 


in  Europe.  Chaudron  has  a  fright  on  him.  It  is 
by  no  means  uncommon  under  his  circumstances. 
I  understood  they  will  leave  at  once." 

Stephen  makes  no  answer.  He  stands  stunned 
under  this  bit  of  news,  given  with  such  good  au- 
thority for  its  truth  as  Miss  Ursula.  Urquhart, 
glancing  at  him,  is  conscious  of  a  satisfaction  al- 
most amounting  to  a  pleasure.  If  he  must  lose 
Milicent,  Stephen  wiU  have  no  hold  on  her  as  her 
friend.  It  is  not  a  very  noble  feeling  on  Ur- 
quhart's  part;  but  very  few  of  us,  when  we  are 
beggared,  like  to  see  another  enjoying  even  a 
moiety  of  our  past  wealth. 

As  for  Mr.  Raymond,  he  is  beaming  with  satis- 
faction, as  he  comes  forward  to  shake  hands  with 
Stephen.  Mr.  Raymond  may  well  congratulate 
himself  upon  freeing  Urquhart  from  his  unfortu- 
nate entanglement.  Once  safe  in  the  world  after 
his  many  weeks  of  exile,  there  need  be,  his  some- 
time guardian  is  very  sure,  no  fears  for  the  future. 
Even  if,  in  years  to  come,  Urquhart  should  meet 
Milicent,  he  would  see  her  in  the  disenchantino- 
tawdry  glare  of  a  make-shift  foreign  life. 

It  is  a  light  which  shows  everything  in  very  dif- 
ferent proportions  from  those  revealed  by  the  sun- 
shine he:  ',  which  darts  over  wave  and  rock,  to 
twinkle  on  the  window-pane  of  the  bleak  old  house 
upon  the  hill.  Though  Mr.  Raymond,  on  Ur- 
quhart's  account,  does  not  regret  his  discovery 
of  Mr.  Chaudron  there,  he  turns  sharply  away 
from  this  reminder.  Some  old  wounds,  ill-cured, 
have  made  themselves  felt,  and  have  proved  more 


310 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


troublesome  and  painful  than  he  imagined  they 
could  possibly  be.  It  is  to  be  hoped  he  will  be 
a  more  skillful  surgeon  for  Urquhart  than  he  has 
been  for  himseli. 

The  sun  is  shining,  but  "the  sullen  rear"  is 
threatening  ;  a  low,  dull  bank  behind  it. 

"  We  '11  have  a  storm  before  another  sunrise," 
an  old  sailor  declares. 

"  Ay  ay,  it 's  piping  up." 

But  the  wind  is  fair  for  the  Undine  to  reach 
her  haven  first.  Stephen  helps  to  cast  off  the 
ropes  that  hold  her-  to  this  rock,  where,  for  all  her 
bonny  looks,  her  master  has  suffered  shipwreck. 
A  khot  of  men,  with  a  proper  proportion  of  small 
boys,  are  lingering  on  the  pier  to  see  her  off.  A 
handsome  vessel  will  always  receive  her  full  quota 
of  admiration,  not  coming  a  whit  behind  a  blooded 
horse,  or  a  beautiful  woman,  in  the  sight  of  a  con- 
noisseur. The  Undine  courtesies  and  dips  grace- 
fully and  coquettishly  ;  until,  the  wind  puffing  her 
sails,  she  turns  her  back  upon  her  small  crowd  of 
admirers,  and  shows  her  heels  in  the  most  ap- 
proved style. 

But  just  as  she  is  slipping  past  the  pier,  Ur- 
quhart from  the  stern  calls  to  Stephen. 

"  There  is  something  I  had  forgotten,"  he  says ; 
and  Stephen  leans  over  to  catch  the  undertone :  — 

"  The  box  of  dresses,  —  you  know  what  I  mean. 
I  left  them  at  my  lodgings.  Distribute  them 
among  the  village  girls.  They  will  like  them,  per- 
haps, better  than  Milicent  seemed  to." 


!  I 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


311 


»i 


Ur- 


From  her  window  Milicent  is  watching  the  sun 
rising.     As  she  leans  with  arms  folded  on  the  sill, 
she  can  hear  the  heavy  thud  of  the  waves  against 
the   cliffs,  and  the  sweep  of   the  tide-rip  toward 
Grand  Passage,  as  the  tide  begins  to  turn,  in  yon- 
der long  white  line,  outside.     Far  in  the  distance, 
a  sea-gull,  in  its  flickering  pause  against  the  sky, 
looks  like  a  star  that  lags  behind  to  twinkle  after 
dawn.     The  low  pile  of  heavy  gray  clouds  in  the 
horizon  has  shorn  the  sun  of  his  rays,  and  he  comes 
up  looking  like  a  pale,  round  moon.     Then   he 
brightens,  and  shows  Milicent  on  the  nearest  pier 
quite  a  crowd  of  the  fisher-people.    Doubtless  some 
of  the  fishing-boats  are  going  out ;  so  the  storm  is 
not  as  imminent  as  Milicent  had  thought,  when 
she  first  glanced  at  the  sky  from  her  window. 

As  she  stands  there  listlessly,  watching,  she  gives 
a  sudden  cry.  The  poor  child  had  not  seen  the 
Undine,  until  now  that  she  has  slipped  past  the 
pier,  and  is  sailing  swiftly  away  before  the  wind. 

After  all,  Milicent  discovers  that  Urquhart  said 
truly,  when  he  told  her  there  were  some  sorrows  in 
life  much  worse  than  death. 

Milicent  makes  no  other  sound,  after  that  one 
sharp  cry  of  astonishment.  She  stands  quietly  at 
the  window,  watching  the  yacht  sailing  away  under 
a  pressure  of  canvas  which  the  fishermen  are  dis- 
cussing ;  or  reprobating,  if  one  might  judge  from 
their  gestures.  And  now  the  water  seems  to  have 
swallowed  her,  leaving  no  trace  of  the  pretty  pleas- 
ure-boat. 

It  is  what  Milicent  asked  Urquhart  to  do,  —  to 


312 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


go  away.  She  has  thought  it  would  be  less  pain- 
ful to  them  both,  when  they  knew  there  was  no 
hope  of  a  meeting.  And  now  that  that  hope  is 
really  gone,  all  others  have  slipped  away  with  it. 

She  turns  from  the  window  with  a  moan,  as  if  in 
pain.  The  inevitable  is  seldom  a  source  of  strength 
to  young  hearts. 

Urquhart  has  gone,  and  seemingly  has  left  no 
trace  behind  him.  He  has  gone,  "  as  a  ship  that 
passeth  over  the  waves  of  the  water,  which,  when 
it  is  gone  by,  the  trace  thereof  cannot  be  found, 
neither  the  pathway  of  the  keel  in  the  waves ;  or  as 
when  a  bird  hath  flown  through  the  air,  there  is  no 
token  of  her  way  to  be  found,  but  the  light  air  be- 
ing beaten  with  the  stroke  of  her  wings,  and  parted 
with  a  violent  noise  and  motion  of  them,  is  passed 
through,  and  therein  afterwards  no  sign  where  she 
went  is  to  be  found."  So  the  memory  of  him  also 
vanishes  from  the  village. 


When  Stephen  some  days  afterwards  recalled 
Urquhart's  last  request,  there  was  one  thing  he  did 
not  find  in  the  box  :  the  only  one  he  could  have  rec- 
ognized. The  dove-colored  silk,  with  its  cherry 
ribbons,  which  Milicent  had  worn  for  one  evening, 
was  missing.  Whether  Urquhart  had  destroyed 
the  dress,  or  whether  he  had  taken  it  away  with 
him,  Stephen  could  not  guess.  If  the  latter,  how 
it  must  keep  Milicent's  poor  little  stjry  before  him. 
It  would  be  like  the  nail  with  which  the  woodman 
fastens  some  quivering,  transfixed  victim  in  his 
sight. 


•• 


XVIII. 

"  As  the  foam  flew  fast  on  the  bitter  blast 
That  tore  the  waves  asuuder." 

"Come  in,  Stephen." 

It  is  Miss  Ursula's  voice  that  bids  him  enter: 
though  it  is  Mr.  Chaudron,  who,  as  Stephen 
pauses  at  the  parlor  door,  gives  him  the  ready 
greeting :  — 

"  Come  in,  Stephen.  We  are  in  a  dilemma,  and 
perhaps  you  can  advise  us.  I  am  not  generally  in 
favor  of  a  multitude  of  counselors ;  but  just  now 
we  want  a  suggestion." 

Miss  Ursula  had  taken  up  her  knitting  when  she 
heard  Stephen's  knock.  She  gives  Mr,  Chaudron 
a  startled  glance,  as  he  asks  for  Stephen's  advice, 
and  her  needles  work  nervously.  She  is  losing 
the  self-control  she  has  exerted  for  years. 

"Our  difficulty  is  this,"  Mr.  Chaudron  goes  on 
to  explam.  «  Raymond  knows  my  whereabouts, 
so  It  IS  wiser  in  me  to  decamp.  Not  that  I  think 
for  a  moment  he  will  formally  inform  on  me  ;  but 
he  is  a  tremendous  talker,  very  fond  of  giving  his 
personal  experiences ;  d  propos  of  something  or 
other,  his  meeting  with  me  will  slip  out.  Besides 
Ursula  would  never  feel  comfortable,  since  so  many 
..  .ici  iioi»^.injrtn  is  reaily  iier  orotiier. 


314 


4( 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 
Then  what  Urquhart  told  me  is  true,  and 


are  all  going  to  Europe."  Stephen  comea^'to  fhis 
conclusion  the  instant  he  knows  there  is  a  dilemma 
to  discuss. 

"  You  see  I  was  right,  and  that  already  they 
have  spoken  of  our  plan-^ '  "  cries  Miss  Ursula  to 
her  brother,  with  that  inflection  of  voice  which  says 
so  plainly--  "  I  told  you  so."  "Not  that  we  are 
at  aU  troubled  by  your  knowing,"  she  adds,  turn- 
ing  to  Stephen,  "  but  it  proves  they  are  impru- 
dent. 

"  Urquhart  only  wished  to  explain  to  me  why 
he  left  so  suddenly,"  Stephen  apologizes. 

"  He  may  chance  to  have  another  explanation  to 
make,"  says  Miss  Ursula,  dryly. 

"  Well,  it  can  do  no  harm,  as  we  have  no  idea 
of  trusting  either  of  them.  Our  difficulty  is  not 
my  leaving :  that  is  decided  upon.  But  unfortu- 
nately there  is  not  money  enough  in  our  purse  to 
take  both  Ursula  and  Milicent,"  Mr.  Chaudron 
adds,  turnhig  to  Stephen. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  advance  you  what  you  need 
I  can  do  so,"  says  Stephen  ;  but  slowly  and  reluc' 
tantly.  It  is  not  the  money  he  regrets  ;  but  it 
seems  always  the  poor  fellow's  luck  to  be  able  to 
further  the  plans  and  wishes  of  others  at  the  ex- 
pense of  his  own.  It  is  not  so  easy,  cheerfully  to 
open  r.  path  to  take  Milicent  away  from  him  for- 
ever. 

No  doubt  Miss  Ursula  thinks  he  does  not  wish 
to  part  with  his  money ;  for  she  says  at  once  :  «  I 
could  not  think  of  accepting  "  — 


PILOT  FORTUNE.  816 

"Oh,  the  money  is  nothing,"  interposes  Stephen, 
hastily.  -  It  is  whether  it  will  be  wise  in  you  to 
leave  here." 

"  The  practicability  is  the  question,  not  the  wis- 
dom,    replies  Miss  Ursula,  shortly. 

"And  unfortunately  the  question  has  two  sides 
to  It ;  for  I  cannot  think  how  you  and  JVIilicent  can 
live  on  iiere  alone  " 

"  Let  Miss  Ursula  and  Milly  come  to  the  cot- 
tage.  Ihat  would  overcome  all  obstacles,"  ex- 
clamis  Stephen,  with  eager  hospitality. 

But  Miss  Ursula  will  not  have  the  difficulty  so 
easily  done  away  with  as  the  two  men  are  inclined 
to  wish,  and  curtly  refuses.  "Poor  Ursula » " 
says  Mr  Chaudron,  laying  his  hand  half  tenderly 
on  her  shoulder.  "  Is  it  so  very  hard  to  give  up  a 
good-for-nothing  brother  *? "  »  i' 

Miss  Ursula  makes  no  answer  ;  but  her  needles 
work  rapidly.  "  Who  wiU  knit  your  socks,  Louis? 
or  look  after  your  comfort?"  she  says  presently, 
looking  up  at  him.  ^' 

"You  do  not  expect  me  to  w(-ar  yarn  socks  in 
Fans  says  Chaudron,  laughing.  "  You  forget 
my  role  of  fisherman  is  played  out  " 

"  If  it  were  not  for  Milicent,  you  would  not  be 
forced  to  leave  me.  Could  you  not  send  her  to  her 
mother's  relations  ?  " 

"Do  you  judge  from  the  past  that  they  want 
her  ?  asks  Mr.  Chaudron,  bitterly.  "  No,  I  will 
keep  her  from  their  cold  charity,  if  I  have  to  starve 
the  child  m  doing  so." 

"It       IG       lio^yl      *^l,-^i.       -,1--  1  IT 

-^  xxtirv*  tiiitt  She   should  separate  us" 


316 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


begins  Miss  Ur.sula.  But  it  is  useless  to  argue 
against  the  inevitable.  The  hard,  set  lines  about 
Miss  Ui'Hula's  nvjuth  (leei)en,  and  she  drops  hor 
eyes  and  goes  on  with  her  knitting  as  if  she  were 
in  haste  to  finish  it  before  her  brother  leaves. 

Stephen  is  inexi)ressibly  sorry  for  her.  "  Miss 
Ursula,"  he  says,  "  you  must  not  be  sei)arated.  I 
have  n't  the  money  in  the  house,  but  I  will  write  to 
St.  John  for  it.  Surely  sueh  an  old  friend  as  I 
can  be  i)ermitted  to  advance  a  little  money." 

She  shakes  her  head  sadly.  '^  There  must  be  no 
delay.  Louis  nmst  leave  to-day,  and  so  he  must 
go  alone." 

''  No,  he  shall  not  go  alone.  We  must  not  per- 
mit that.  Aunt  Ursula." 

It  is  Milicent's  clear  voice  that  makes  all  three 
turn  toward  the  doorway. 

How  long  she  has  been  there,  how  much  she  has 
overheard,  no  one  can  tell  from  the  startled  young 
face.  The  little  flush  of  resolve  in  it  makes  its 
wanness  only  the  more  apparent,  as  she  glances 
across  the  great,  bare  room  lit  up  rather  by  the  bit 
of  drift-wood  fire  on  the  hearth  than  by  the  dull 
day  staring  through  the  uncurtained  windows. 

She  glances  in,  just  as  she  did  on  that  evening 
of  her  coming  home  —  how  long  ago  ?  —  only  Ur- 
quhart  is  not  with  her  now,  and  Stephen  turns 
from  his  leaning  posture  against  the  mantel-shelf, 
to  look  at  her.  The  rest  of  the  picture  is  the  same : 
the  gray,  straight  figure  in  the  chimney-corner, 
with  the  knitting  on  her  lap,  and  Mr.  Chaudron, 
leaning  forward  in  his  arm-chair. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


817 


It  is  lie  wlio  breaks  the  silence ;  answering  for 
Miss  Ursula,  as  if  there  had  been  no  jiauso,  — 

"  I  don't  see  how  it  can  bo  lu-li)ed.  I  cannot 
bear  to  cross  Ursula ;  and  yet  I  cannot  leave  you 
alone." 

"  Of  course  you  must  not  cross  Aunt  Ursula,  — 
Aunt  Ursula  who  has  done  so  much  for  you,  while 
I  am  but  a  burden.  If  only  one  of  us  can  go  with 
you,  it  must  be  my  aunt.  Unless,"  she  adds, 
trembling,  "  it  is  my  duty  to  go." 

"  I  can  dispense  with  duty,"  answers  Mr.  Chau- 
dron,  with  a  short  laugh.  "  The  truth  is,  Milicent, 
that  pretty  face  of  yours  would  be  sadly  in  my  way,' 
for  it  would  be  continually  attracting  attention! 
No;  as  Ursula  can't  leave  you,  I  must  go  alone." 

"But  Aunt  Ursula  must  leave  me.  Not  here, 
not  in  this  house  "  — 

It  is  involuntary,  the  meaning  glance  which 
Chaudron  turns  upon  Stephen,  who,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  Milicent,  cannot  see  it.  But  the  girl  does. 
An  intolerable  blush  overspreads  her  face,  and  she 
turns  angrily  on  her  father. 

"  The  old  thorns  will  grow  out  of  the  old  stem." 
That  root  of  bitterness  between  these  two  had 
struck  too  deeply  down,  through  years  of  growth, 
to  be  all  plucked  up  in  one  such  moment  as''  theirs 
under  the  cliff,  in  the  grasp  of  the  threatening 
waters.  That  moment  might  well  seem  unreal  to 
the  girl  in  the  face  of  the  man's  customary  mood 
of  careless  cynicism.  But,  that  once  swept  aside 
like  a  mask,  she  could  not  long  forget  the  bleak 
face  of  despair  that  had  hooked  out  at  her  from 


?l 


318 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


under  it.  Her  wrath  dies  out  as  quickly  as  it 
flashed  ;  she  answers  quietly,  — 

"  You  would  never  guess  my  plan  unless  I  told 
you.  It  is  to  live  with  Mrs.  Featherstone.  She 
can't  manage  to  keep  her  accounts  straight,  and 
often  brings  them  to  me  to  add  up  for  her.  She 
will  willingly  give  me  the  little  room  behind  the 
shop,  if  I  will  help  her  with  her  figures,  and  in  the 
shop.  And  for  the  rest,  I  can  sew  for  the  women, 
or  net  fishing-nets  for  the  men." 

Miss  Ursula  has  dropped  her  knitting,  to  watch 
her  brother. 

He  is  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  his  head  bowed  on  his 
breast. 

Milicent  also  is  watching  him.  Stephen  has 
gone  behind  Miss  Ursula's  chair.  "  Milly  shall 
never  want  as  long  as  I  live,"  he  whispers. 

Presently  Mr.  Chaudron  stops  before  Miss  Ur- 
sula. He  has  determined  that  she  shall  decide. 
He  owes  lier  far  too  much  to  set  even  his  daughter 
before  her.  One  debt  at  least  he  will  honestly  ac- 
knowledge ;  and  if  this  poor  pay  of  following  him 
satisfies  his  sister,  she  shall  have  it. 

"Ursula,"  he  says  gently,  "you  shall  decide. 
Will  you  go  with  me  or  stay  ?  " 

He  has  made  his  question  as  simple  as  possible, 
so  that  his  words  shall  not  bias  her  judgment. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  Louis.  I  am  getting  old, 
and  have  nothing  in  life  but  you.  Milicent  is 
young  yet,  and  may  have  much  in  the  future." 

"One   must   be  satisfied  to  live  day  by  day," 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


319 


Milicent  answers,  sharply.     «  What  is  the  future 
to  either  of  us  ?  " 

"  Then  it  is  decided,"  interposes  Mr.  Chaudron, 
abruptly.  "  Ursula  and  I  go  together  ;  and  Mil- 
icent is  to  sell  sugar  and  tobacco  to  the  fishermen. 
Milicent  is  right  about  the  uncertainty  of  the 
future.  That  Louis  Chaudron's  daughter  should 
peddle  out  small  gi  oceries  to  fishermen  seemed 
scarcely  possible  a  dozen  years  ago.  Well,  at  least 
you'll  get  an  honest  livelihood" — with  bitterness. 

"  It  will  not  be  long,  Louis.  We  can  send  for 
her  in  a  little  time.  Once  in  the  world  again,  you 
must  find  some  employment  which  will  better  our 
fortunes." 

"  So  we  will,"  returns  Mr.  Chaudron,  hopefully. 
"  Keep  a  look-out  for  a  check,  Milicent.  Stephen 
will  see  you  started  to  us.  But,  Ursula,  we  must 
get  off  as  soon  as  possible,  if  we  would  catch  the 
next  steamer  from  Halifax.  Will  a  couple  of 
hours  be  enough  for  you  ?  " 

"There  is  a  storm  coming  up,"  suggests  Ste- 
phen.    "  You  had  better  wait  until  it  is  over." 

"  No  time  to  lose.  Ursula  and  I  have  weathered 
many  a  storm  together,  and  are  not  afraid.  Is  it 
not  so,  Ursula  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  not  afraid.  It  is  harder  to  sit  still 
and  fear  for  others  than  to  run  great  risks." 

"Than  even  the  risk  of  shipwreck?  Stephen 
looks  as  if  ho  thought  us  foolliardy,"  says  Mr. 
Chaudron,  laughing. 

"  If  that  is  to  be  your  fate,  I  would  rather  share 
it  than  live  to  hear  it,"  answers  Miss  Ursula, 
briefly. 


m 

IT'? 


320 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


M 


"  It  won't  be  as  bad  as  that.  I  have  always 
been  lucky  in  escaping-  death.  People  who  have 
very  little  to  live  for  generally  are.  We  will 
start  before  the  storm  conies,  and  reach  Halifax 
before  it." 

The  two  men  go  out  together :  Mr.  Chaudron  to 
get  his  fishing-smack  ready  for  the  short  voyage ; 
and  Stephen  to  see  Mrs.  Featherstone. 

Stephen  is  glad  Miss  Ursula  needs  her  niece's 
help,  so  that  she  has  to  let  him  go  alone  to  arrange 
matters  with  Mrs.  Featherstone.  For  he  has  de- 
termined that  if  Mrs.  Featherstone  wishes  to  make 
a  good  bargain  for  herself,  he  will  permit  her  to 
do  so^  and  will  go  surety,  with  l.'r  promise  to  be 
discreetly  silent. 

Miss  Ursula  and  Milicent  have  their  hands  full. 
The  scanty  furniture  Milicent  may  dispose  of  after- 
wards ;  but  there  is  the  cooking  of  provisions  for 
the  voyage,  and  then  the  packing. 

As  Milicent  is  kneeling  over  an  old  trunk.  Miss 
Ursula  stoops  and  kisses  her.  It  is  such  an  un- 
common action  on  her  part,  that  Milicent  in  her 
surprise  does  not  return  the  embrace.  "  God  will 
reward  you,  Milicent.  I  nev^er  will  be  able  to.  A 
kind,  brave  act  is  a  debt  to  Him." 

"  Then  there  is  some  little  good  in  me  ?  "  Mil- 
icent says,  half  crying.  "I  was  afraid  I  should 
only  feel  bitter  and  unkind  to  every  one,  now  that 
I  have  no  one  to  take  care  of  me.  If  I  had  not 
been  sure  that  only  you  could  have  been  of  use  to 
my  father,  I  am  not  so  certain  that  I  would  have 
said  I  would  stay  here." 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


321 


They  have  not  much   time   for  talking.     Mr. 
Chaudron  sends  a  boy  to  tell  them  to  come  ;  and 
btephen  follows  quickly,  to  hasten  them.    The  sky 
IS  darkening  with  clouds ;  the  sea  reflects  the  dull 
shades  dismally.     The  fishermen  are  standing  to- 
gether  m   groups,  predicting  a  blow;   their  fore- 
warnings   have   infected   the   man   hired  by  Mr 
Chaudron  for  the  run  to  Halifax;  he  grows  faint- 
hearted,  and  refuses  to  leave.     Miss  Ursula  waxes 
sharp  and  impatient,  but  Mr.  Chaudron  seems  un- 
niffled.     "  It  is  a  pity  you  are  not  going,  Milicent. 
You  would  be  useful  in  steering,"  he  says,  lightly. 
"  It  is  too  late  now,"  interposes  Miss  Ursula  in 
haste,  as   if  afraid   at   the   last  minute   Milicent 
would  go  in  her  place. 

But  there  is  a  young  sailor  who  is  willing  to  join 
them  for  a  free  passage  to  Plalifax,  and  Mr.  Chau- 
dron gladly  closes  with  his  offer. 
"Now  we  must  be  quick." 

Miss  Ursula  is  swifter  than  her  brother's  hint 
She  has  kissed  Milicent  hastily,  and  Stephen  helps 
her  on  board.  "  We  will  write  from  Halifax,"  she 
promises. 

Milicent  stands  on  the  edge  of  the  pier  watching 
Miss  Ursula,  who  is  busied  in  placing  her  baskets 
and  packages  so  that  they  shall  not  be  wet  by  sea 
or  threatening  rain.  Already  she  seems  to  have 
forgotten  the  fishing-village  and  its  inhabitants,  and 
is  altogether  absorbed  in  her  arrangements  for  the 
voyage ;  never  even  heeding  the  wind,  which  is 
blowing  her  black  dress  about  her,  and  which  is 
damp  and  chill  onmio-b  fo  be  oiii"«r"''  "--^ 

21 


322 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Milicent  hurriedly  takes  off  her  plaid  shawl,  her 
only  possession  of  value.  "Put  it  around  Aunt 
Ursula,"  she  says,  as  her  father  kisses  her  good-by. 
"  The  wind  is  much  too  cold  for  her." 

"  We  will  send  you  another  from  Paris,"  Mr. 
Chaudron  promises,  hastily. 

There  is  no  time  for  separate  leave-takings ;  he 
has  only  a  moment  to  speak  to  Stephen,  while  he 
keeps  the  girl's  hands  still  in  his.  "  I  leave  her  in 
your  charge,"  he  says.     "  I  know  she  is  safe." 

A  moment  more  and  the  sails  are  set,  and  the 
little  sloop  darts  off.  "  It 's  a  foolhardy  voyage," 
Milicent  hears  old  Angus  grumble,  as  she  brushes 
past  him.  "  A  body  might  think  they  were  run- 
ning away  from  a  bigger  storm  than  the  sea  will 
give  them." 

Mr.  Chaudron,  in  the  boat,  is  waving  a  farewell. 
His  hand  falls,  but  his  eyes  are  still  on  Milicent. 
There  deepens  a  yearning  pain  in  them,  as  once 
when  he  stood  and  watched  the  light  figure  flitting 
from  rock  to  rock  beyond  Green  Cove,  with  the 
young  stranger  of  the  Undine  at  her  side.  He  had 
turned  sharply  away  then,  as  if  there  were  something 
in  the  bright  picture  defined  against  the  rosy  sky 
which  he  could  not  bear.  The  picture  is  none  too 
bright  now.  The  lonely,  wind-swept  figure  stand- 
ing forward  on  the  pier  against  a  background  of 
gray,  weather-beaten  fish-houses;  at  her  feet,  the 
gray  sea,  chafing  sullenly  on  the  black  rocks  and 
the  gaunt  piles  that  lean  about  in  the  water,  stained 
a  dull,  yellow-brown  by  the  sea-weed.  Behind  lies 
the  white  village ;  the  green  ridge  rises  beyond  the 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


323 


gray,  bleak,  empty  old  house  upon  the  knoll,  to 
where  the  smoke  from  Stephen's  homestead  lays  a 
white  touch  on  the  low,  brooding  skies.  But  Mr. 
Chaudron's  haggard  eyes  fall  short  of  that.  Only 
there  comes  some  gleam  of  light  across  their  gloom, 
w^hen  he  sees  Stephen  quietly  draw  nearer  to  the 
girl  upon  the  pier. 

Miss  Ursula  never  once  turns  to  look  back. 

It  is  the  second  boat  Milicent  has  watched  sail- 
ing away  to-day. 

The  first  went  laden  with  her  future;  this  one 
with  her  past. 

Has  it  altogether  vanished,  yonder  in  the  dis- 
tance?-—or  is  it  her  tears  that  have  blotted  it 
out? 

"Shall  we  go,  MiUy?  "  It  is  Stephen's  voice 
behind  her.  "  You  forget  you  have  no  shawl,  and 
the  wind  is  keen." 

She  turns  to  him  at  once.  Then  there  is  some 
one  to  think  of  her,  to  care  for  her  ? 

They  pass  through  the  village  together,  stopping 
at  Mrs.  Featherstone's  to  look  at  the  box  of  a  room 
Stephen  has  secured  for  Milicent.  He  sends  for 
one  of  his  carts  to  move  her  possessions  ;  and  then 
they  go  back  to  the  old  house,  where  their  voices 
sound  loud  and  startling  in  the  silent  rooms. 
Stephen  seems  to  fear  to  leave  Milicent  by  herself, 
and  follows  her  closely,  making  excuses  to  keep 
her  in  sight.  And  she  makes  no  effort  to  get  rid 
of  him  ;  indeed,  she  would  have  broken  down  ut- 
terly, if  it  had  not  been  for  that  sense  of  com- 
panionship. 


324 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


It  IS  sunset,  the  hour  for  tea  in  the  village,  when 
the  two  come  out  of  the  house  together,  and  Mili- 
cent  locks  the  door  on  her  old  life. 

The  rain  begins  to  fall,  and  the  wind  is  moaning 
as  if  impatient  of  being  restrained. 

When  Stephen  ret  ■  >  Mrs.  Featherstone's, 
later  in  the  evening,  i.  iinds  Milicent  weighing 
sugar  for  a  customer,  under  Mrs.  Featherstone's 
supervision. 

Milicent  brightens  when  she  sees  Stephen  come 
in ;  and  asks  how  she  can  serve  him,  so  exactly 
like  Mrs.  Featherstone,  that  she  might  have  cheated 
him  into  the  belief  that  she  is  amused  with  the 
novelty  of  her  position,  had  she  not  looked  so  worn 
and  weary. 

"You  come  i'^  good  time,"  says  Milicent,  lightly, 
as  this  last  customer  goes  out.  "  For  here  is  Mrs. 
Featherstone  flatly  accusing  figures  of  lying  and 
stealing." 

"  It  'sWilkins's  account,"  explains  Mrs.  Feather- 
stone, looking  up  from  her  books  at  the  other  end 
of  the  little  counter. 

"Any  fool  could  tell,"  she  goes  on,  "that  the 
cod,  which  are  as  thick  in  the  sea  as  the  pebbles 
on  the  shore,  could  never  balance  the  weight  of  the 
groceries  and  dress-goods  his  folks  manage  to  use. 
I  don't  say  they  could  n't  be  more  saving ;  but  I 
do  say  when  things  square  to  a  penny  I  have  my 
doubts  as  to  the  figures.  Even  a  penny  over,  on 
one  side  or  the  other,  makes  a  better  looking  ac- 
count, to  my  thinking.     But  that  Wilkins  I  he  '11 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


325 


never  have  enough  till  his  mouth 's  full  o'  mouls, 
as  my  Scots  grandani  used  to  say." 

"  I  am  sure  you  have  the  right  on  your  side.  I 
can  soon  prove  it  by  your  figures,"  says  Milicent, 
soothingly. 

"Oh,  as  to  the  figures,  they  slip  out  of  one's 
head  like  herrings  out  of  a  rent  net.  But  come 
into  the  parlor,  the  two  of  you.  There  won't 
any  more  customers  be  in  to-night :  and  I  '11  bring 
you  a  cup  of  tea ;  —  Miss  Milicent  there  took  next 
to  nothing  at  tea-time." 

She  has  come  out  from  behind  the  counter  now, 
and  stands  before  them,  her  plump  hands  on  her 
hips,  her  comely,  friendly  face  wearing  an  expres- 
sion of  concern. 

"Next  to  nothing,"  she  repeats,  shaking  her 
head  over  it.  "  But  we  '11  get  her  over  that.  She  '11 
soon  be  working  on  to  a  level  keel  again.  There  's 
nothing  like  feeding  up.  Why,  look  at  me !  and  I 
knew  the  day  when  I  did  n't  weigh  a  quintal  of 
hake.  No  more  than  missy  there  "  —  nodding  at 
Milicent. 

The  girl  laughs,  just  the  ghost  of  her  old  merry 
laugh;  and  Mrs.  Featherstone  bustles  away  to 
bring  the  tea  in  here,  as  Stephen  proposes,  —  he 
having  divined  that  Milicent  is  afraid  of  the  par- 
lor, this  first  night.  The  parlor,  where  she  has 
never  set  foot,  since  the  day  Stephen  led  her 
through  it  to  see  Urquhart  in  the  room  behind. 
Poor  little  Dickon !  Milicent's  eyes  follow  the 
mother  wonderingly.     Can  she  have  forgotten,  so 


soon 


326 


PILOT  FORTUNE, 


She  does  not  know  a  mother's  heart  is  fashioned 
somewise  in  the  image  of  its  Maker's :  one  day  is 
as  a  thousand  years  in  its  sight,  and  a  thousand 
years  as  one  day. 

There  is  one  little  cup  which  is  hidden  away,  to 
be  used  nevermore ;  but  her  best  tea-things  Mrs 
Featherstone  brings  out  in  honor  of  her  guests. 
Mdicent,  seated  on   the   broad   sill  of   the  shop- 
window,  with  Stephen   leaning   against   the  near 
end  of  the  counter,  sips  her  tea  out  of  a  cup  on 
which  the  Queen,  in  the  purple,  and  the  Prince 
Consort,   look  down   from   the   throne   upon   the 
Princess  Royal  in  pea-green  frock  and  pantalettes, 
trundling  her  hoop  with  the  small  Prince  of  Wales. 
As  for  the  gingerbread,  the  hostess  declares  the 
plate  must  speedily  be  cleared,  that  Milicent  may 
see   the   jolly   shepherd   in   the   centre,   with  the 
posy:  — 

"  When  I  had  one  sheep, 
Your  heart  I  could  not  keep: 
So  now  that  I  've  a  flock, 
At  you  I  mock." 

The  lamp  upon  the  counter  does  not  shed  too 
broad  a  glare  on  Milicent ;  whom  Stephen  watches 
with  a  great  longing  in  his  heart  to  have  her  at 
his  own  fireside,  even  though  there  were  a  cloud 
on  her  young  face  which  he  could  not  chase  away. 
After  a  while,  when  Mrs.  Featherstone,  who  has 
been  dozing  off  comfortably  for  some  time,  rouses 
herself,  and  begins    to    close   the   shop,  Stephen 
goes  away.      The  storm   is  rising  now  with  vio- 
lence;  and   Milicent   reproaches   herself   for  not 
having  sent  him  home  some  time  before. 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


327 


With  wet  eyes,  Milicent  glances  round  her  nest 
of  a  room  under  the  eaves,  when  Mrs.  Feather- 
stone  sets  down  her  lamp  on  the  small  white  dress- 
ing-table, and  leaves  her  alone,  with  a  cheery 
good-night.  The  kind  soul  has  evidently  been 
bent  on  doing  honor  to  the  desolate  girl's  coming. 
The  home-made  carpet  is  brightened  by  the  newest 
mats,  done  in  such  roses  and  fuchsias  as  one  could 
hardly  believe  had  blossomed  out  of  strips  of 
colored  rags,  hooked  through  a  coffee-bag,  and 
clipped  into  the  semblance  of  a  Persian  rug.  The 
gayest  prints  are  on  the  sloping  walls;  and  the 
Queen  herself,  in  royal  robes,  looks  down  a  wel- 
come from  what  seems  to  be  the  post  li  honor 

the  square  white  chimney-shaft,  which  runs  up  al- 
most through  the  middle  of  the  room,  like  the 
mainmast  in  a  cabin.  The  wooden  paneling  of 
the  walls  also  suggests  a  ship's  cabin;  and  the 
creaking  and  straining  of  the  vines  under  her 
window  in  the  wind  puts  Milicent  drearily  in 
mind  of  the  rough  night  at  sea. 

But  it  is  not  until  Milicent  has  fallen  asleep, 
worn  out  with  the  excitement  and  fatigues  of  the 
day,  that  the  full  force  of  the  storm  comes.  The 
small  house  rocks  in  the  gale  ;  and  the  sea  seems 
wildly  endeavoring  to  break  its  bounds,  making  a 
dreadful  tumult  in  its  useless  efforts.  Milicent 
lies  listening ;  praying,  as  only  those  on  the  coast 
can,  for  the  imperiled  sailors.  It  is  not  for  Ur- 
quhart  she  prays :  she  is  sure  he  has  reached  St. 
John  long  ago.     But  whether  her  father  and  Miss 


328 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


Towards  morning,  she  falls  asleep,  and  dreams 
Hhe  IS  with  Urquhart  in  the  Undine  again,  and 
they  are  '^rifting  out  to  sea  before  the  wind  It  is 
the  n,g.it  of  her  birthday;  Urquhart's  arms  are 
around  lier,  and  she  has  no  fears. 

In  the  morning,  she  finds  that  the  wind  has  died 
out.  Only,  to  remind  one  of  the  storm,  the  sea 
rises  and  falls  in  the  great  throb  of  the  ground- 
swell ;  and  all  the  village  street  is  heaped  with 
kelp  and  dulse,  which  the  villagers  are  gathering 
together  for  their  fields. 

Such  poor  spoils,  the  ravening  sea  has  not  cared 
to  keep  back  ;  but  for  the  more  precious  things, 
the  lives,  the  faithful  hearts  — 

The  days  grow  into  weeks,   and  Milicent  begins 
to  get  used  to  the  changes  in  her  life.     She  makes 
no  complaint ;  and  the  toil  which  was  once  so  in- 
tolerable  to  her    proves  now  a  help.      Even   the 
weeks  are  gliding  by;  and  yet  there  is  no  letter 
from  Halifax,  neither  does  the  new  shawl  arrive 
from   Paris.      Milicent's   anxiety   and   fear   have 
grown  so  great  that  there  is  no  room  in  her  heart 
for  even  a  longing  to  hear  something  of  Urquhart. 
becretly  Stephen  hires  a  boat  and  r>ends  it  to  Hal- 
ifaxto  make  inquiries;  but  it  can  find  no  tidino«s 
of  Mr.  Chaudron's  little  fishing-sloop  there,  nor 
at  any  of  the  smaller  ports  it  stops  at,  on  its  way. 
^    The  fishermen  of  the  village  say  it  was  a  tempt- 
ing  of  Providence,  to  start  when  such  a  storm  was 
gathering;  and  they  knew  very.w.ll  how  it  would 
aU  end.     But  the  sea   keeps  her  secret   for  the 
Judgment  Day.     Whether  the  brother  and  sister, 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


829 


who  let  no  earthly  trouble  sep.aratc  them,  had 
clung  together  even  \h  the  mighty  throes  of  death ; 
or  whether  the  water  had  divided  them  asunder 
for  a  little  time,  until  they  "  had  crossed  the  waves 
of  this  troublesome  world,"  and  stood  side  by  side 
in  the  one  safe  haven,  —  no  one  could  tell. 


XVIII. 

" Fortune  brings  In  some  boats  that  are  not  steered." 

A  LONELY,  wind-swept  figure,  standing  on  the 
green  crest  of  the  tiny  lightlioiise  island,  shadinff 
her  eyes  with  the  hand  that  holds  the  bunch  of 
bluebells  and  buttercups,  and  dandelions  as  small 
as  buttercups,  just  gathered  from  the  springy  turf 
under  her  feet.  ^^ 

^  Shading  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  set- 
ting  sun.      It  is  going  down  in  flames ;  and  the 
harbor  glows  blood-red,  as  though  Moses'  rod  were 
lifted  over  it.    But  there  are  heavy,  ominous  banks 
below,  on  the  horizon;  a  ragged  black   cloud   is 
driving  up,  with  fringes  fluttering  in   the  wind  ; 
the  tide-rip  turns  with  a  hoarse  threat,  along  the 
whole  line  of  its  yeasty  surges  from  St.  Mary's 
Bay.    And  Milicent  is  standing,  half  afraid,,  upon 
this  sea-lashed  rock,  of  which  she  and  a  helpless 
invalid  within  yonder  lighthouse  cottage  are  the 
only  inhabitants  just  now.     There  is  no  sign  of 
the  keeper's  boat  returning  homeward  ;  the  girl  is 
watching  vainly  for  it. 

Over  there,  from  Long  Island,  it  ought  to  be 
putting  out.  Milicent's  glance  wanders  past  the 
low,  deep  cove  of  Freeport,  to  the  high  red  bluff 
with  Its  green  slopes  besprent  with  cottages  ;  and 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


881 


then  across  tho  harbor,  to  Westi)ort,  and  to  the 
old  gray  liousc  upon  its  stony  hill. 

Sea-gulls  are  drifting  over  it,  like  white  waves 
set  free  from  the  ocean-bed.  But  there  are  waves 
enough  left :  great  sheets  of  foam,  that  scale  the 
ledges,  and  are  Hung  from  them  high  into  the  air, 
in  drifts  through  which  the  sun  strikes,  tinting 
them,  and  giving  to  the  swirling  green  lipon  tho 
rocks  its  complementary  shade  of  lilac. 

Milieent  is  watching ;  gazing  across  so  far  that 
she  does  not  quite  at  once  see,  near  at  hand,  a 
skiff,  with  sides  painted  in  black  and  white  squares 
like  a  checker-board,  shoot  in  on  the  rising  tide  of 
the  tumultuous  passage  between  this  islet  and  the 
Bryer  Island  point  of  rocks. 

When  she  does  sec  :  — 

"  Stephen  !  "  she  cries,  under  her  breath :  "  Ste- 
phen !  " 

There  is  something  of  terror  in  her  voice ;  but 
more  of  eager  gladness.  That  passage  might  be 
perilous  to  any  one  but  Stephen :  Stephen  who,  as 
his  strong  frame  bends  to  the  stroke  of  the  oars, 
and  the  westering  sun  is  on  his  fair  hair  and  his 
resolute  face,  looks,  Milieent  fancies,  like  one  of 
those  old-time  sea-kings  for  whom  the  waves  held 
no  threat. 

The  sun  which  lights  him  up  lights  up  the  girl's 
slight  figure  as  well. 

Thrice  has  the  summer  come,  since  Milieent 
locked  the  door  of  the  old  house  behind  her,  on 
that  stormy  evening,  to  reenter  it  no  more.  Thrice : 
bringing  changes  gradually,  as  time  is  sure  to  do, 


332 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


even  though  we  may  fail  to  mark  them  as  they 
come.  '^ 

At  last  is  laid  aside  the  black  dress  which  Mili- 
cent's  first  fishing-net  bought  her,  and  which  Ste- 
phen disliked,  —  though  he  said  nothing,  — for  it 
made   more   evident   the   extreme    jmllor   of    the 
young,  sad  face,  with  the  dark  circles  uiider  the 
eyes  which  told  of   long  fits  of   weeping.      That 
black  dress  was  to  Stephen  not  merely  the  bad-e 
of  mourning  for  her  dead ;  he  was  sure  UrquhaH 
had  his  share  in  the  tears  Milicent  shed  in   the 
little  room  above  Mrs.  Featherstone's  shop :  tears 
which  Stephen's  long  patience  and  unselfish  love 
have  staunched,  and  which  Urquhart  at  least  has 
now   no   power   to   call   forth  again.      There   are 
no  traces   of    them,   in   the   clear  eyes   watching 
Stephens  jDrogress  now. 

He  has  lifted  his  head  just  once,  to  look  at  her; 
and  then  his  whole  attention  is  strained  to  reach 
her,  over  the  stormy  passage  rushing  like  the  rapids 
ot  a  mighty  cataract. 

Just  across  it  is  the  point  of  rocks  upon  the 
±Jryer  island  side,  where  Urquhart  pushed  his  boat 
and  landed  Milicent,  the  day  he  went  to  the  rescue 
ot  the  drowning  boy  and  nearly  lost  his  own  life 
m  the  attempt. 

Many  of  us  have  felt,  at  least  once  in  our  lives 
when  we  have  returned  to  an  old  haunt  where  we 
lived  through  some  great  personal  tragedy,  or  even 
a  mere  happiness,  and  iiave  found  those  who  were 
equally  interested  passing  tranquil  days,  unruffled 
by  a  memory  which  stirs  us  to  the  very  depths,  — 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


333 


we  have  felt  angry  and  hurt  by  their  indifference. 
We  forget  they  have  long  lived  in  the  remem- 
brance ;  and  the  scenes  which  come  before  us  so 
painfully  vividly  have  been  daily  before  them,  and 
have  been  blurred  by  many  a  touch  of  passing 
time  since  then.  There  are  many  scenes  which 
Milicent  can  conjure  up,  on  the  cliffs  or  in  the 
harbor,  that  have  happened  in  these  two  years 
since  Urquhart's  wooing  and  farewell,  and  have 
quite  blotted  out  both.  Urquhart,  whenever  he 
sees  in  memory  the  little  fishing-village,  the  cliffs, 
the  bay,  the  harbor,  lives  over  the  past  again  ;  but 
Milicent  looks,  and  sees  Stephen  now. 

He  has  beached  his  boat,  and  comes  over  the 
rocks  and  the  green  crest,  to  where  she  stands  and 
waits,  an  expectant  smile  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  Stephen,  you  liave  not  come  to  take  me  back  ? 
Did  not  Mrs.  Featherstone  tell  you  I  was  to  stay 
with  poor  Ellen  until  her  brother  gets  home  from 
Freeport  ?     He  went  to  see  the  doctor  for  her." 

Stephen  takes  her  hands,  and  draws  her  back  a 
little  from  the  spot  where  she  is  standing  —  the 
smooth  brink  of  a  gash  in  the  turfy  crest,  a  black 
chasm  where  the  waves  that  enter  unseen  flash  up 
with  a  wild,  hoarse  moan,  then  are  dragged  back, 
out  of  sight. 

"  No,  I  have  n't  come  to  take  you  back,  Milly," 
he  says,  when  he  has  her  in  safety.  "  On  the 
contrary,  —  what  do  you  say  to  turning  lighthouse 
keeper  ?  " 

She  looks  up  at  him,  a  pretty,  puzzled  gleam  in 
her  eyes. 


.-, 


334 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


"Because,  though  the   tide  has   helped  me  in 
through  the  strait  (my  boat  was  in  Green  Cove, 
and  Mrs.  Featherstone  told  me  you  came  over  here 
this  morning),  to  cross  from  Long  Island  would  be 
impossible,  in  the  teeth  of  wind  and  tide,  and  the 
storm  that  is  fast  coming  up.     I  doubt  Dixon's 
bemg  able  even  to  attempt  the  passage  ;  indeed  I 
propose   to  let  the  lighthouse  send  him  an  early 
message  that  he  is  not  wanted.    What  do  you  say? 
Shall  we  two  tend  the  light  ?    When  he  sees  its 
first  flash,  he  will  understand  the  lighthouse  has  a 
keeper,  and  his  sister  is  not  alone  in  the  storm." 
Milicent  looks  up  at  her  old  friend,  with  a  smile. 
">You  would  serve  very  well  for  a   lighthouse 
yourself,  Stephen.     Whatever  we  think  on  sun- 
shiny days  that  we  might   do,  in   stormy  nights 
you  send  out  such  rays  of  help  and  hope,  that  we 
could  never  make  the  harbor  without  you." 

With  a  glow  in  his  face,  Stephen  listens  to  the 
pretty  plagiarist;  as  unconscious  as  she,  that   a 
modern  poet  has  said  much  the  same  thing.     But 
after   all,  do   not   true   thoughts  dwell   in  many 
hearts,  before  they  find  their  way  to  the  one  pair 
of  mspired  lips  that  gives  them  fitting  utterance  ? 
When  Stephen  comes  down  to  the  cosy  family- 
room,  after  sending  his  kindly  message  from  the 
lighthouse  tower  to  the  absent  keeper,  the  table  is 
set  for  the  nondescript  tea.     To  the  inevitable  fin- 
nan baddies  and  dish  of  potatoes  steaming  with 
mealy  promise,  Milicent  has  added  a  plate  of  Mrs. 
Featherstone's  famous  lemon  patties ;  and,  fringed 
round  with  bluebells   and   bnffprpunc    fi,. 


vi^'UA.  V     XQ     est 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


885 


glass  bowl  of  small  crimson  wild-strawberries  in 
the  midst,  of  so  powerful  a  fragrance  that  the 
room  is  full  of  it. 

There  is  a  tiny  driftwood  fire,  for  good  cheer ; 
Milicent  throws  on  another  stick,  which  catches 
and  blazes  up  at  once.  She  stands  on  the  hearth, 
dreamily  watching  the  bright  flame.  She  is  still 
wrapped  in  the  soft  folds  of  her  Shetland  shawl, 
and  she  looks  wonderfully  pretty,  as  she  stands 
there,  smiting  her  hands  gently  together,  to  free 
them  from  the  fibres  of  the  wood.  She  is  thinking 
pleasant  thoughts;  for  there  is  a  smile  on  her 
mouth,  and  the  wild-rose  flush  in  her  cheeks  comes 
and  goes  too  fitfully  to  be  the  effect  of  the  blazing 
fire. 

There  is  no  need  of  a  lamp  here,  for  the  long 
northern  twilight  ought  to  last  a  couple  of  hours 
more;  and  Stephen,  as  he  mounts  the  few  steps 
from  the  outer  room,  and  pauses  in  the  open  door- 
way, takes  in  the  whole  picture  at  a  glance. 

It  is  a  homely  scene  enough ;  but  the  girl  lends 
spirit  and  life  to  it.  The  other  occupant  of  the 
room  sits  at  the  window  looking  seaward;  the 
gray,  fading  light  resting  on  a  gray  and  fading 
face,  where  pain  has  set  its  seal  of  patience.  It  is 
a  face  not  yet  past  youth;  but  pain  and  patience 
know  no  youth  ;  and  the  mouth  has  that  plaintive 
wistfulness  which,  just  as  surely  as  the  stooping 
shoulders,  tells  of  spinal  curvature.  The  busy 
hands  for  once  lie  idle  in  her  lap;  but  it  is  they' 
(her  stalwart  brother  the  keeper  would  tell  you, 
with  hearty  pride  in  them),  it  is  they  which  have 


836 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


made  the  pretty  rugy  that  lie  about  the  room  j 
they  which  have  knitted  that  wonderful,  tall  bunch 
of  worsted  flowers  under  the  glass  case ;  they  which 
sometimes,  opening  the  parlor  organ  in  the  corner, 
let  loose  simple  melodies  that  go  floating  all  about 
the  twilight  harbor. 

There  is  no  such  peaceful  sound  this  evening: 
the  crash  of  the  great  waves  flinging  themselves 
madly  about,  among  the  rocks,  grows  loud  and 
louder  as  the  hours  go  by. 

Once,  when  Stephen  has  gone  anxiously  into  the 
little  tower  where  the  lights  are  burning  steadily, 
he  hears  in  the  lull  a  faiiit  sound  behind  him,  and 
turns,  to  see  Milicent  at  the  head  of  the  stair. 

"  I  could  not  help  coming,  Stephen,"  she  says, 
apologetically.  "  Ellen  is  used  to  it  all,  and  she 
has  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair;  but  I  could  not 
help  thinking  —  suppose  those  waves  "  — 

She  catches  her  breath :  up  to  this  moment,  the 
foremost  of  them,  pressing  on,  could  only  reach  to 
lay  white,  angry  hands  about  the  foot  of  the  cot- 
tage and  the  tiny  lighthouse  tower.  But  this  one, 
gathering  strength,  and  urged  more  fiercely  on, 
leaps  up,  and  sends  a  shower  of  spray  against  the 
windows,  in  the  midst  of  Milicent's  words. 

Swift  as  thought,  she  is  at  Stephen's  side ;  catch- 
ing by  his  arm,  holding  by  him  as  he  sits  in  the 
elbow-chair,  under  the  lamps,  which  glow  on  their 
stand  above,  —  a  circle  of  great  student-burners 
reflected  far  out  throi  ,h  the  Passage,  to  St.  Mary's 
Bay.  Milicent's  eyes,  glowing  as  much  with  ex- 
viijcmcuu  aa  v.iui  iCiir,  riash  out  With  them;  wniie 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


337 


the  mighty  billows  hurl  themselves  against  the 
glass,  and  go  hissing  past,  overhead,  in  great  glit- 
tering handfiils  of  prismatic  diamonds  now,  and 
now  in  showers  of  wind-driven  sparks. 

It  is  too  beautiful  to  be  all  terrible. 

Milicent  says  as  much,  presently,  in  one  of  those 
treacherous  pauses  before  the  coming  onslaught, 
when  her  clear  voice  can  make  itself  heard  above 
the  more  distant  muffled  thunder  on  the  ledjres. 

"  What  a  night !  Stephen,  are  you  sure  there  is 
no  danger,  as  Ellen  declares?  But  she  can't 
know  anything  about  it ;  I  'm  sure  this  is  a  much 
worse  storm  —  O  Stephen!"  stopping  short,  and 
then  beginning  again :  "  Did  not  that  shake  your 
very  heart  ?  I  am  sure  it  did  mine ;  and  all  the 
place  swayed." 

"It  is  founded  upon  a  rock,  Milly,"  he  says, 
smiling  up  at  her. 

She  has  to  wait  for  another  crash  and  long  with- 
drawing boom ;  and  then  she  responds  softly  to  his 
hidden  thought :  — 

" '  Upon  a  Kock.'  " 

Presently  he  shows  her  his  watch. 

"  The  tide  is  beginning  to  turn  ;  we  won't  have 
many  more  such  onslaughts  as  this  last.  Sit  down, 
Milly  ;  you  are  just  a  thought  pale,  and  this  hand 
is  not  so  steady  as  it  ought  to  be,"  he  says,  as 
he  lifts  it  from  his  arm,  and  puts  her  in  the  chair 
from  which  he  has  risen. 

She  takes  it,  and  turns  her  back  upon  the  sea- 
ward-looking panes,  idly  drawing  towards  her  the 
newspaper  he  thrust  aside  when  she  came  to  him. 

22 


338 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


He  makes  a  hasty  movement,  as  if  to  take  it 

f  I'om  her.  But  she  does  not  see,  and  has  gone  on :  — 

"  What  were  you  reading,  Stephen,  when  I  came 

in?     You  looked  so  grave  over  it  that  the  storm 

frightened  me." 

"  An  American  paper,"  he  answers,  hurriedly, 
"  which  Dixon  probably  got  from  some  trader  in 
the  village.     It  is  not  very  late,  and  "  — 

lie  stops :  his  hand,  extended  for  it,  falls  to  his 
side.     He  is  too  late.     For  she  sees  already. 

It  is  a  "  Herald  "  :  Urquhart's  name  in  the  list 
of  American  arrivals  in  Paris. 

Milicent  has  a  strange  look  in  her  eyes,  as  if  she 
saW  a  ghost,  —  not  a  ghastly  corpse,  but  a  vision. 
Then  she  lifts  her  eyes  straight  to  Stephen. 
"  And  you  thought  it  would  startle  me  ?  "  she 
says.  "  And  so  it  has.  I  had  a  vision  of  the  sun- 
set bay,  and  of  the  fairy-tale  I  listened  to  there, 
of  sailing  away  and  away  into  shining  foreign 
bays.  —  It  would  never  have  done,"  she  cries, 
breaking  off.  "Such  a  voyage  is  for  light  sum- 
mer breezes;  but  there  must  come  storms — like 
this  "  — 

She  turns  to  him  with  a  half  smile ;  and  Stephen 
stretches  out  his  hands  to  her. 

"  Milly,  if  we  might  slip  back  into  our  old  moor- 
mgs     — 

The  smile  dies  out  of  her  eyes ;  there  comes  a 
startled  look  into  them. 

"  Safe  in  harbor,  Stephen  ?  Is  that  what  you 
are  thinking  of,  for  me  ?  No :  when  I  left  the 
good  holding-ground  "  — 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


839 


If  she  means  his  heart,  he  has  drawn  her  mas- 
terfully back  to  it. 

"  Milly,  I  loved  yon  when  you  were  little  Milly, 
my  one  playmate  and  friend,  and  I  have  never 
found  any  reason  why  I  should  not  love  you.  It  is 
not  in  the  nature  of  some  women  to  be  forgotten." 

"  Not  in  the  nature  of  some  men  to  forget." 

But  they  have  both  forgotten  —  as  the  storm  is 
now  withdrawing,  and  they  make  their  way  back 
to  the  lighthouse  parlor  and  Ellen  —  they  have 
both  forgotten  Urquhart,  and  the  paper  that  has 
fluttered  to  the  floor,  with  his  name  on  it. 

Neither  of  them  gives  one  thought  to  him ;  but 
it  is  a  question  whether  Urquhart  has  never  a 
thought  of  Milicent,  as  he  wanders  idly,  and  cer- 
tainly a  little  wearily,  to  and  fro  along  the  Paris 
thoroughfares.  He  assuredly  has  never  dreamed 
of  her  as  still  in  the  little  fishing-village.  Living 
abroad  with  her  father  a  life  far  worse  for  her 
than  that  which  she  had  detested  in  the  old  house, 
he  has  often  pictured  to  himself.  While,  for  all 
the  friendship  of  his  world,  —  of  which,  though 
fond  of  and  kind  to  him,  he  has  yet  a  little  dread, 
—  it  is  in  vain  he  strives  altogether  to  blot  from 
his  memory  that  Fundy  summer-tide,  when  he,  if 
not  the  Undine,  suffered  shipwreck  in  port. 

Not  that  he  may  not  find  another  woman  to  love  ; 
but  it  will  not  be  another  Milicent. 

And,  after  all,  that  huge  bugbear  with  which 
Mr.  Raymond  had  managed  to  frighten  first  Urqu- 
hart and  then  Milicent  would  never  have  existed. 


\  I 


340 


PILOT  FORTUNE. 


They  could  liave  married,  witli  no  objectionable 
father-in-law  to  start  up  at  inopportune  moments 
to  annoy  Urquhart ;  and  Milicent's  parentage  would 
have  been  forgotten,  after  the  story  of  her  father's 
violent  death  had  been  worn  tlireadbare  through 
excessive  handling.  If  Urquhart  could  only  have 
foreseen  this  future,  —  but  prevision  is  not  a  hu- 
man attribute. 

"And  the  cottage,  Milly?"  Stephen  is  saying, 
staying  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door  down- 
stairs.    "  It  has  waited  so  long  for  its  mistress." 

"  But  poor  Mrs.  Featherstone  ?  "  says  Milicent, 
breathlessly,  and  opens  the  door. 

She  has  been  lingering  so  long  in  the  pleasant 
border  land,  the  Debateable  Ground  between 
Friendship  and  Love,  that  she  is  in  no  haste, 
now,  to  cross  the  line. 

Only,  when  the  two  are  standing  together  before 
the  flickering  fire,  the  invalid's  regular  breathing 
from  her  easy-chair  by  the  window  filling  the 
pauses  of  the  retreating  waves,  Milicent  glances  up 
at  her  lover,  with  a  shy  little  laugh  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  will  teach  one 
of  Strainer's  girls  to  keep  accounts.  Besides,"  she 
adds,  "  I  don't  think  Strainer's  new  wife  treats 
Victoria  well.  I  found  her  the  other  day  sitting 
by  herself  and  crying.  She  would  not  tell  me  why, 
but  I  could  guess.  So,  when  she  knows  the  ropes, 
as  good  Mrs.  Featherstone  would  say,  —  the  cot- 
tage "  — 

"  Shall  have  its  mistress  !  " 


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